Laughing With
by Frigyt
Summary: Everything that is precious to us must be saved by sacrifice. It is this sacrifice of her sanity that Specialist Valorie Red treats her wounded soldiers. She saves their lives, but who will save hers when the time comes? OCs.
1. Same Stuff, Different Death

At a young age, helping people is often looked upon as a chore, a certain kind of lax punishment that doesn't truly offer a reward nor affect the world as a whole. It is a syndrome that is either left behind as the child grows, and as he grows, the feeling of assistance becoming prominent. Some even graduate further, becoming part of a system that knows that every deed done opens a window to the world, showing it hope, thankfulness, success, and care.

As a person in a hospital environment, the sense of helping the greater good is usually strong. Caring for the sick, comforting the dying, and strengthening the weak is always part of the job requirement. Only a select few of these personnel take their training to another step.

A combat medic in the military has almost the same job. Instead of a hospital, the operating room was a battlefield, the beeping of a heart monitor was like whizzing bullets, and technological tools few and far between. Lives were lost more frequently, and if they were saved, one hade to wonder at what cost; an arm, two legs, perhaps hearing and eyesight. Even so, a life is valuable in its own right, and if a soldier was alive but broken, it was as close to mission accomplished a medic would get.

Specialist Valorie Red was having one of those days. Although she wasn't out with the boys in the field, the hospital at Firebase Phoenix was still full of men, injured by a roadside bomb on a convoy last night. Two were completely whole, just mangled with broken limbs, unnecessary to be amputated. After casting them, both men were still in rather high spirits, wondering if they would get a leave of absence for their injury.

Two other men were rushed in; Valorie kept wondering why they hadn't found them earlier. It wasn't two bad here either. A corporal had lost his right ear, ripped off when he skidded along the ground from the blast. Patching him up was no difficulty, but the soldier was mesmerized by the gauze covering the hole in his head. The young private, who had been helping in, clutching at his hand, looked up with pleading eyes to Valorie. He had lost three fingers, taken shrapnel to the shoulder and arms, and had a slab of raw skin on his cheek. With deft fingers and with the help of morphine, Valorie plucked out the pieces and disinfected them, stitched up his hand, and soothed the skin on his cheek. He tried to smile, but with the face injury, it came out strained and didn't seem entirely true. Valorie took no offense, knowing he was not angry at her.

The morgue reeked of new blood as Valorie entered it. On a stretcher, alone, was a Pfc. Arno, a soldier who was dead on arrival to the base. The medics on the Blackhawk had done everything they could have, Valorie noticed as she scanned down the report. He had been the driver of the Humvee, right on the side where the bomb had gone off. The report said he was killed by blunt trauma to the head, and if that hadn't killed him immediately, he would have bled out from the cut in his jugular, made by flying shards of window shield glass. Valorie sighed, closing the soldier's eyes and removing his dog tags. She zipped the body bag up and turned, allowing the soldier to fight his final battle in peace.

Exiting the morgue, Valorie shut off all the lights and allowed the darkness of death to lull the eternally silent heroes into a final slumber. She blinked in the light from the field hospital's small windows, relishing the warmth it provided, thankful she was still able to feel it. Jogging down the hall, passing several rooms with soldiers, Valorie made for the exit to wait for an incoming squad. Squinting in the Afghan sun, she watched the incoming helicopter land, wondering if it was more injured. She snapped to attention when General Shepherd emerged, flanked by two lietenants, all of them bent over from the air pressure of the Blackhawk's wings. He sent a nod to Valorie before moving off to the Pit with his entourage, walking quickly and with purpose. Once he passed, Valorie relaxed. The cockpit of the Blackhawk opened and out stepped the pilot, giving a smile and a cheery wave.

"YOU HAVE TO SHUT IT OFF!" screamed Valorie, frantically waving her arms. The blades were still whirring, cutting through the air at a high speed. The pilot made a face before looking up, blanching, and jumping back into the cockpit. With an aggravated sigh, the helicopter shut down, cooling down from its flight over the desert.

"Lost your mind already, Noah? You've only known me nine years!" called Valorie. Captain Noah Lennox exited the machine chuckling, waving to his copilot as they departed. Slinging his helmet under his arm, he walked over to Valorie and ruffled her hair, which was already looking like a nest for a wild animal.

Captain Noah Lennox was tall, over six feet, with dark hair and eyes. A lacrosse player in high school, Noah was built like an athlete and could withstand a physical beating well. He was a few months older than Valorie and both had graduated in the year 2012. She sometimes wondered how he had moved up the ranks faster than her, but a quick analysis always left her with two reasons.

High school was just okay for Valorie and Noah. Both had many of the same classes, and were naturally very close. It disappeared as both went their separate ways after school, Valorie to enter immediately in her medical studies and Noah to travel leisurely around the world. Valorie had always thought as their entrance into the military as somewhat ironic. War, in essence, tears everything apart. Families, homelands, nations; rarely does it leave life alone. It thrives on bloodshed and misery, relishing in anguish. When the Russians became a threat, both Valorie and Noah knew they had to do something. By a stroke of pure luck, the friends found themselves placed in the same regiment. Noah had moved up the chain of command quickly, adept at flying a helicopter and wielding a firearm. Valorie moved much more slowly, preferring to save lives rather than snuff them out.

"How you doing, Ratchet? How many of them did you save today?" Noah asked, slinging a friendly arm over her shoulder. Valorie smiled at the nickname, accepted his hug and then shrugged out of his grasp. Noah looked at her, full on in the face, assessed her appearance and frowned. "You look tired, dude."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Valorie insisted, waving a hand to dismiss the statement. Lies; she hadn't been sleeping well at all lately. "What about you, Ironhide? Is it exciting being Shepherd's personal slave?"

Laughing at his own nickname from a movie they had loved in high school, Noah smiled and shrugged. The sarcasm in his reply was hard to mask. "Ah, you know. Travel the world, meet new people, blow them up. Always exciting."

Noah insisted Valorie should take a break from the hospital, and when she declined, Noah pulled the higher rank card on her. He instructed her to go down into the Pit and provide medical assistance if anyone got hurt. At the Pit, the pair separated, Noah joining General Shepherd in the observatory. Valorie flipped off the captain when he turned around. She declined offers to play basketball and tromped down the steps to the holding pen. Corporal Dunn sat on one of the ammo crates, working on his pistol. He glanced up at Valorie as she settled herself against the wall. Dunn gestured for her to sit on the crate, but Valorie declined. She knew if she sat down, she wouldn't be able to get back up from fatigue.

"Come to run the Pit, Specialist?" Dunn asked, and Valorie raised an eye at the formalities. Then she remembered that Shepherd was up watching them, and she risked a glance up. The stoic face of the hardened general was scrutinizing the course with an appraising eye. Noah caught her looking and waggled his eyebrows at her, which cause Valorie to snort in laughter and turn her head away, looking back at Dunn.

"No sir; I ran it earlier," She replied, trying to ignore the wooden beams pressing against her back. Her legs stung from being overworked, but it was something Valorie dealt with everyday. In the medic's world, rarely was there time for a break.

"Oh really?" Dunn seemed genuinely surprised. It was known that Valorie practically lived in the hospital. Sergeant Foley got worried when he didn't see her for two days once. "What was your time?"

"52.16 seconds," recited Valorie, noting how the corporal winced. Definitely wasn't her greatest time, but wasn't the worst one on base either. Valorie was slow because she took a second to look at her targets and decipher whether they were a civilian or enemy. Valorie rolled her eyes when Dunn whistled lowly under his breath. "Oh, enough. My apologies that I am not a badass in a ski mask or a mad guy with a mohawk."

Dunn was in the middle of a laugh when Pfc. Joseph Allen came into the Pit. He was young, probably just past recruiting age. It astounded Valorie how he advanced so far in eight months when it had taken her a year and a half to reach his rank. Allen was about an inch shorter than Valorie, but Valorie was rather tall to begin with, with bright confident blue eyes. A helmet was fastened under his chin and he walked with a slight swagger. He was polite, however, giving both the specialist and corporal a salute before turning his full attention on Dunn.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Allen asked, staring right at the corporal.

"I didn't ask for you, kid. Shepherd did. Wants to see you run the Pit; do good, and you make his Prima Donna squad, if that's your thing," Dunn shrugged, getting to his feet. He motioned to Valorie with his rifle. "Specialist Red will take care of you if you break a nail."

"Just don't shoot your foot," Valorie suggested. She had seen it done before. Allen smiled, readying himself at the gate. At the buzzer it swung open and he darted, gunshots ringing as they hit targets and buzzers blaring. Dunn shouted orders to the young private, while Shepherd watched with an appraising eye.

Thirty seconds later, Allen returned sweaty, panting and smiling. When he heard his time of 39.02 seconds, he whooped, fist pumping the air and jumping up. On his landing he winced, shifting the weight immediately to his left ankle.

"What happened?" Valorie asked, already kneeling at his leg, probing his ankle. Allen looked at Dunn, eyes wide; he didn't think anyone would notice his discomfort.

"Just tell her, man; she'll dissect you if you don't," Dunn said, giving Valorie a slap on the back.

"That only happened once," murmured Valorie, who was becoming engrossed with the project at hand. She found the spot where it was tender, knowing she had it when Allen flinched. "Here, correct?"

"Y-yeah…" Allen watched as Valorie pulled out an ace bandage from a pouch around her waist. Expertly, she untied his boots, dragged the shoe off gently, pulled down his sock and rolled up his pant leg. Observing the ankle, it didn't look like a serious sprain.

"Go easy on it, Allen. It will be sore for a while, but nothing too painful. It will get worse under stress, however. If it gets worse, let me know," Valorie concluded, wrapping the ace bandage tight. She handed Allen his boot, making sure he was fine before turning to Dunn. She stood, brushing the sand off her pants. "That ledge is too high; I'm telling you for the last time, Dunn."

"Whatever," he grumbled. Valorie wanted to ram her fist into his jaw. That ledge in the Pit was the cause of so many sprains and cuts that took time away from more serious issues. Valorie turned her back on Dunn, pressing her face into her hands and exhaling, allowing her anger to drift away with the carbon dioxide.

Valorie made Allen walk back and forth twice to confirm the sprain was not serious before leaving the Pit. Shepherd and his entourage had left the observatory, clustered now around a table while idle soldiers mingled around them. Noah, across from Shepherd, caught Valorie's eyes and frowned, shaking his head.

She had no time to understand what he meant, nor did she need to as two Humvees screeched into camp. Out toppled the passenger, seriously injured and barely breathing. A soldier immediately felt for a pulse, and Valorie felt her feet start to pound against the dirt in their direction. The wounded turned his lidded eyes on her, seemed to recognize her, and reached for her desperately. Vaguely she heard the alarm blaring in the background and the roar of helicopter blades as Blackhawks and Pave Lows took off, stirring up dust that was trampled beneath the feet of soldiers rushing to their battalions.

Noah caught up the sprinting Valorie and yanked her back, almost throwing her on the ground. Into her arms he shoved her Kevlar vest, various pouches of medical supplies, a radio and an M4A1. Valorie blinked up at him.

"Shepherd wants you in the field today, let's go!" He shouted, leading her by her arm over to a waiting Humvee.

"But…but…" Valorie stared at the dying man, how his eyes noticed her being taken away, how they welled up in tears as he realized he was expiring, how his last chance of life was leaving him. His hand reaching for her dropped and the soldier giving him CPR cursed. Noah sighed when he felt Valorie stop cooperating.

"Remember what we said about distancing, Val?" he asked her. She shook her head and shoved her helmet onto it, rather roughly.

"I know, I know," Valorie stressed, pulling on her vest and slipping grenades into them. "I can't let it get to me. But I could have saved him."

"Think of how many you'll save on the field today. Valorie, it's been four years. You know you can't save them all. Understood?" Noah demanded, watching Valorie with a sharp gaze. When she nodded her reluctant agreement, he dropped the glare and smiled. "'Atta girl."

The captain climbed up the Humvee to man the turret while Valorie hopped in the passenger seat, taking notice of the two privates in the Humvee and one private first class.

"Where we going, private?" asked Valorie, slamming the door shut. The Humvee immediately fell into the formation and began to roll across the desert sands.

"Red zone, ma'am," came the clipped reply, and Valorie left it at that. In the rearview mirror she could see the other two privates, biting nails and eyes flicking around. By their young appearance and tense posture, they were most likely new to the Rangers and just past recruiting age.

"Nervous, gentlemen?" she asked, watching them through the mirror with dark eyes. Both jumped at the sound of her voice. From above, Noah chuckled.

"No ma'am," the two privates chorused, nerves evident in their voices. Valorie rolled her eyes at the lie and turned to face them fully. Noah gave out another laugh.

"Don't worry kids; Mama Red's gonna get you home alive," he affirmed. The two boys looked to Valorie for confirmation.

"I will get you home in one piece as close as possible. All you have to do is stay alive. I can't beat death." Valorie had a flash of the dead eyes of the soldier back at camp, but shook it out of her mind. She brought her arm around, forming a fist. "Do we have a deal?"

With new confidence, both privates bumped Valorie's fist with their own, seemingly becoming less nervous. Noah gave her thumbs up, and ever the driver cracked a smile. Valorie asked for their names, and she memorized their facial structure as they introduced themselves. Pvt. Spring and Pvt. Iris were both worried to jump into the firefight.

"We're stopping," the driver announced, slowing down the Humvee. Noah dropped back inside the vehicle, squatting down on his haunches.

"Alright, remember to check your corners and watch for RPGs. Any militia may not be fired upon unless we are fired upon, clear?" Everyone nodded. "When Specialist Red tells you to cover her, do it. If she goes down, we all go down. Got it?"

They all nodded once more. Valorie fingered her combat medic armband, trying to cover up the target. "Good. We go in together and come out together. Hooah?"

"HOOAH!"

"Alright, we're Oscar Mike! Let's go!" Noah followed Pvt. Iris out his door, booking it down the steps of the destroyed bridge. Valorie swung open her own door, following Noah with Pvt. Spring on her heels. She scanned the other battalions, seeing no one injured yet, before hopping into the firefight. Her M4A1 didn't have much of a sight, nor did it have a grenadier attachment, so Valorie focused her firepower on the other side of the broken bridge.

She hated this part. The gun sprung to life in her hands, jumping every time it fired death. It contradicted Valorie in every way possible, but she couldn't be cut down. Lives of the injured were here responsibility. A dead medic would not help anyone.


	2. Clara Barton

Special thanks to **ecto1B**, my fantastic beta reader, and **Arhani 'Hanny' Daforcena** for her review. ^/^

**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing but whom I create. Modern Warfare 2 and characters belong to IW. (right?)

* * *

Allen couldn't see anything, hear anything, or sense anything. The buzzing in his ears was irritating and loud, but the pain in his ankle was excruciating and overpowering. It blossomed like a Venus fly trap, engulfing his calf and foot with poisoned teeth. He forced his eyes open, and amidst the blurriness was General Shepherd standing over him, reloading his pistol. He had a scowl on his face that didn't leave when he hoisted Allen back onto his unstable feet.

"Get up, Private Allen! Rangers lead the way!" Shepherd shouted, pushing him towards the fray before moving off into another direction. Allen stumbled and fell, his ankle refusing to hold his weight. Black spots clouded his vision again, and the fight or flight instinct kicked in. Desperately Allen tried to crawl to cover, a safe place that was almost nonexistent on this battlefield.

Then he was being pulled by his vest, dragged quickly into safety behind a boulder. Allen blinked the spots away and looked at the stressed and exhausted face of Specialist Red, which relaxed when she saw Allen focus on her.

"Your ankle?" She asked, already stripping him of his boot and sock. Allen nodded, marveling at how fast Valorie was able to work and how gently she examined her ankle. A frown wormed its way onto her face. Allen thought it made her look older than twenty four years old. "It's stressed, swollen, and turning purple. You better stay off it, Allen."

"But General Shepherd−" Allen cut himself short, letting his opinion die in his throat. The look Valorie was giving him gave him the chills.

"You're not leading the way with this ankle, private, and you're useless to us if you can't walk," Valorie reasoned, retrieving the ace bandage from the ground. Valorie glanced at Allen's crestfallen face, wondering why he was so upset. Most soldiers would jump at the chance to stay alive. Valorie sighed, going against her better judgment. "Look, kid, if you want to be lead to slaughter by Shepherd, be my guest. I'll give you a splint and you can deal with the pain yourself. Others need the morphine more than a war crazy maniac. Deal?"

"Yes ma'am," Allen chirped, determination flooding into his face. Valorie snatched a sturdy stick from the ground and snapped it cleanly in two, holding the pieces in one hand while she retrieved the medical tape from her pouch. She flinched as a bullet pinged off the top of the boulder, chipping off a reasonable chunk of the rock. Valorie didn't stop after that, knowing that their cover was slowly being compromised. She braced the ankle, wrapping tape around the sticks to hold them together and then rewrapping the ace bandage. Valorie gave Allen a hard look from under the brim of her helmet, trying to make it look threatening, but with her haggard appearance and tired eyes, it just made her look old.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Allen. Overconfidence leads to defeat, remember that." Valorie threw Allen his M4A1 Grenadier and watched as he ran to the front lines, trying to disguise his limp. Valorie shook her head, pressing her palms into her eyes and rubbing vigorously to wake herself up. She crouched low as she darted to another soldier who had gotten shot in the arm. It was a clean exit and entry wound, and after bandaging the wound tightly to stem the bleeding, the soldier was already hefting his gun back into his arms and taking off. Valorie always wondered why they were so eager to kill or be killed. Seeing no other wounded, Valorie darted into an opening between Noah and Pvt. Spring behind a burnt out car and returned fire to the militia.

"Overlord, this is Hunter 2-1, we've got OpFors on the white tower…" Dunn's voice bellowed through Valorie's radio and she almost ripped the headset off of her head. He was so unnecessarily loud sometimes. Overlord copied Dunn's request, sending F-15 fighter planes to their position.

Noah glanced up to see the Wolverine laying down the bridge and moving across the transit, militia scattering in its wake. He grabbed Valorie by the vest and Pvt. Iris by the collar, pushing them to the stairs. "Let's go, the bridge is down! We're Oscar Mike!"

Valorie snatched Pvt. Sprig by his sleeve, pushing him in front of her and darting after him up the steps, throwing herself into the waiting Humvee. She breathed out slowly as she allowed her muscles to relax, careful not to get to comfortable. She was likely to fall asleep.

"HOOAH!" Noah shouted breathlessly, jumping up to the turret. He cheered as the F-15 bombers took down the white tower, shouting with the other Rangers. This was what he lived for, the excitement of staring death in the face and spitting on him. Valorie never understood his love of blood. Pvt. Iris slid into his seat, slamming the door behind him and ducking as a spray of bullets hit the armored car. Landing in a mass of equipment, Pvt. Spring curled up in the seat, looking around wildly before unfurling himself. Valorie shut her eyes and leaned against the back of her seat as the convoy began to move, letting her helmet drop over her eyes for a second. The blackness almost sucked her into the realm of dreams, but she fought her way out of its clutching hands and turned to the two privates in the back seat.

"Injuries?" she asked, looking over the two boys evenly.

"No ma'am!" Both chimed, Pvt. Spring throwing a salute in for good measure. Valorie smiled at their enthusiasm, glad the pair had not been emotionally scarred. There was still the matter of infiltrating the town, however. Valorie smiled and turned back to the road, gun in her hands.

"Probable militia up ahead," came a warning through Valorie's radio. She looked out the front windshield to see three men watching the convoy, suspiciously dressed. Valorie hid the armband on her sleeve subconsciously, but she still felt like a target.

"Do we shoot them?" asked Pvt. Iris nervously, looking out the window.

"Negative, private. Cool your jets. We don't fire unless fire upon," Noah instructed, eyes raking the rooftops for signs of activity. His finger twitched on the trigger occasionally.

The procession broke into two, the two Humvees from Hunter 2-2 descending into a tunnel. Hunter 2-1 continued straight, soldiers cautiously scanning alleyways and houses. The streets were narrow, perfect places for ambushes. Valorie gripped her gun tighter, relaxing slightly as the Humvees moved into more open territory.

Then the bullets came, pinging off the armor of the Humvee and starting to crack the windshield. Noah lit up the Mini Gun, its steady firing rhythm and swarms of bullets a deadly warning to the militia. Valorie watched them fall off the roof; if a bullet to the heart hadn't killed them, then the fall certainly did. She switched her gaze to out the window. The Humvee spun around a curve, following the leader, and they plowed through an enemy vehicle. Noah shot at the militia from point blank range, shredding them in the streets. He glanced up as he heard the whizzing of an RPG. Screaming a warning, he ducked back inside just before the first Humvee blew up into a fiery mess, immediately igniting. Allen, Dunn and Foley dashed out of their Humvee, running for cover.

Valorie didn't hesitate as the driver slowed. She shot out of her seat, racing for the burning car. Noah covered her from the Humvee with the mini gun, taking down any spare militia. Pvt. Iris and Pvt. Spring followed his lead, eliminating the ones that Noah could not see. Valorie ran past Dunn and Foley, who screamed at her to get inside to cover. Leaping over Allen, who had been shell shocked by the blast, she reached the door of the car. Ignoring how the searing metal bit into her flesh, no doubt causing burns, she wrenched the door open and checked the immobile soldier for a pulse. She felt it, still beating soundly, and then reached across him to the other soldier. He groaned at Valorie's touch, blinking his eyes open. He gauged the situation quickly, catching sight of Valorie's armband.

"Go," he croaked, nodding painfully to his companion. "Get him out of here. Then me."

Valorie hefted the immobile soldier out of the car, dragging him to the building. He was knocked unconscious, probably from his head hitting against the window, and had a gash stretching from his temple to his chin, but was alive and fixable. Valorie left him with Dunn before moving over to the door. There was one more survivor. She could save him. Redeem herself for the one she left behind at base.

A double RPG shot to Valorie's empty Humvee sent it tumbling, right against the only doorway. Valorie slammed against it full force, eyes whirling around it as she tried to figure out a way to get around it. She pushed, she pulled, she even tried to lift it, but nothing was working.

"No! No! NO!" Valorie cried, slamming both fists against the metal. She grabbed at her helmet in frustration, looking around for another escape. She spotted the window, piled high with defensive sandbags, and calculated how to get out of it. Her vision turned into tunnel mode, the window the only thing keeping her from saving that man. Sure, she'd be a target, but a moving target is hard to hit.

"No you don't!" Noah grabbed Valorie and pinned her to the ground, anticipating what she was planning. Seconds later, another RPG hit the Humvee that the survivor was in—the explosion was visible through the window. Valorie screamed, trying to throw Noah off of her. What if that man had a family? A wife? A daughter?

"Valorie! Hey!" Noah shook her, aware of the other troops looking at the scene. Noah's stomach dropped as he saw Valorie's look, the one that she only wore when Noah knew she was eating herself alive with her own insults, and he knew that he had to tread carefully. "C'mon Val. You would have never made it. We need you here; that soldier needs you now."

Slowly, Noah let her go, and Valorie pushed herself up on burnt hands. She didn't seem to take notice of him, only moving over to Dunn and the soldier she had pulled from the wreckage.

"I'll take it from here," she told Dunn quietly, and, after looking to Noah for confirmation, he handed Valorie the bandages. The corporal grabbed his weapon and walked straight to Noah, moving close to his ear.

"She gonna be okay?" Dunn asked, glancing over at Valorie. She had cleaned off all the blood from the soldier's face, and was now examining the gash. Her eyes were clouded, obviously somewhere else, and the shadows under her eyes didn't help her appearance. "She looks like she needs a vacation."

"Don't we all," Noah murmured back, watched Valorie sew up the wound with slightly shaking fingers. He was about to say more before a thud came from upstairs, alerting the Rangers that they were not alone. Allen took point, launching a flash bang upstairs before clearing out the room. Noah waited for Valorie to finish putting gauze around the wound before following Foley with Pvt. Spring. Valorie and Pvt. Iris carried the unconscious soldier between them, following after the main firefight. They went up the stairs of the building, waiting for the all clear from Foley and Noah before darting across the street. They caught up with Noah just outside the school. Pvt. Spring scanned the perimeter as Noah contacted Foley.

"Lennox to Foley, what's your status, over?" Noah called over his radio, wanting to make sure he was given the all clear before moving the extra cargo.

"I've got him, private," Valorie mumbled to her helper, and although unsure, the soldier stepped back to allow Valorie to sling the soldier over her shoulders in a fireman's hold. Iris wondered how she was able to do that. The medic caught his curious look and answered his unasked question. "Years of practice. And weights. Lots of weights."

As the squad waited for a reply, Valorie looked at the one bulletin board on the wall. Though ridden with bullet holes, it was still intact and holding pictures drawn by the students. They must have been in a lower grade, because the pictures represented circles and triangles rather than people. Valorie scanned her eyes over them before her eyes landed on one, a drawing of the artist and a soldier, obviously American because there was a scribbled flag on his sleeve. There was also an armband on the trooper's arm, and on that was a red cross. It was the armband of a medic, and as Valorie looked closer to the picture of the child holding the medic's hand, she noticed he had a broken leg. The medic must have casted it for the child. Valorie ripped the picture from its staples and folded it carefully, slipping it into a pocket on her vest.

"Lennox, this is Dunn, we just cut through history class. Safe to proceed with cargo, over," Dunn's voice responded, and Noah gave motions for them to continue. They caught up with Foley's squad at the school's exit.

"What took you so long? Fail a grade?" asked Dunn, trying, Valorie supposed, to lighten her mood. She shrugged, motioning to the soldier slung over her shoulder.

"Mom packed a little extra lunch," she countered. Valorie wasn't in the mood to banter with Dunn, but witty replies were a natural occurrence when the two spoke together. The corporal laughed.

"Hunter 2-1, this is Overlord, do you copy?" Three hands flew to their headsets.

"We copy, Overlord. Go ahead," Noah responded, picking up his rifle and proceeding down the exit hallway. Valorie stopped just outside the school behind a parked car, when she heard the soldier on her back groan and begin to stir. She called Pvt. Spring over to her for cover fire and set the unconscious soldier on her back against the car, out of harm's way.

"Mama?" he slurred, a southern accent slipping into his voice. Pvt. Spring gave a snort of laughter while Valorie gave a soft smile. It wasn't the first time she had been called by that name.

"As close as you're gonna get in this place, private," Valorie answered, watching the soldier as he began to rouse himself. She checked his pulse as he shook out his muscles, then checked the stitches in his head.

"My god, feels like a hangover," he moaned, wincing as his eyes adjusted to the light. Pvt. Spring shook his head.

"Can you stand?" Valorie asked, watching with a careful eye as he struggled to pull himself up. She caught him as he started to sway dangerously on his feet, slinging one of his arms over her shoulder.

"Just move your feet. I'll support you," Valorie suggested. She pulled out her Desert Eagle pistol and held it in one hand, ready to fire. Pvt. Spring watched everywhere for signs of movement.

The trio caught up to the squad quickly despite their extra weight, immediately trying to hold back from being seen by the militia. Valorie saw Noah engaged in hand to hand combat about two yards from her position, struggling because of the heavy gear. She aimed and fired, the pistol recoiling viciously in her hand, and just grazed the enemy's calf. He went down, however, and Noah slit his throat before he could get back up. He gave her thumbs up before heading after another militia, a lion prowling after a gazelle.

"Good shot, ma'am," the wounded soldier complemented. Valorie took down another militia member from the cover of an indoor garage with two pistol shots and was able to wound another with her remaining bullets. There was no way she was going to be able to reload.

"Good work, Red!" Foley shouted, rushing past the garage door. "Now let's move! The LZ is just ahead!"

Valorie and her wounded companion began to leave the cover of the garage, moving as fast as possible. When she heard the rifle shot go off, there was no way she could have moved into safely. The private slumped and sagged, becoming dead weight against Valorie's shoulder.

"HOLY-! MY ANKLE!" he screamed, beginning to thrash violently. Knowing he wasn't going to be able to walk, Valorie told him to keep still for five seconds as she slung him over her should once again, ignoring the blood from his ankle soaking into her shirt for now. Later she would scrub at it, clean it vigorously, but the stain would never go away, adding to her memories. Pvt. Spring took out the sniper quickly and ran next to Valorie, maintaining a safe distance from the blood. It made him queasy.

After trash filled alleys and debris covered streets, the two squads of Hunter 2-1 emerged into the evac site, chaos filling the small space. Valorie whistled and snapped her fingers to four medics with a stretcher. They hurried over, helping Valorie lay the groaning and sweating soldier onto the transport.

"You're gonna be fine, kid," Valorie assured him, watching with appraising eyes as the medics tended to his ankle and gave him some morphine. As the drugs took effect, the soldier visibly relaxed, unable to feel the pain anymore. Valorie turned to walk away.

"Wait!" he called, wanting something from Valorie. She swiveled her head to look at him, hoping he wasn't one of those over dramatic types who faked their death. "What's your name?"

"Specialist Valorie Red," she answered, not expecting him to absorb the information. He studied her face for a moment before nodding.

"I'll remember it," he promised. Valorie shrugged. It was a common name, nothing special about it. She motioned for the medics to take him away for treatment before returning to her unit. Her equipment weighted her down, and her eyelids tried to shut themselves, trying to sing a siren's song of blissful sleep. She came to stand next to Noah, leaning against him slightly. Valorie didn't even straighten up as General Shepherd came over.

"Great work, Private Allen! Let's go, you're coming with me," Shepherd commanded. Valorie cracked her eyes open, looking at Allen. He still had a limp, and Valorie frowned, beginning to open her mouth. Allen however, saw her and frantically waved his hands, telling her to be quiet. He wanted this mission, wanted to be more than just a Ranger. Valorie shut her mouth, silently wishing Allen luck. Noah wiggled away from Valorie, following General Shepherd's beckon. Walking away, he managed to throw one last remark over his shoulder. "Specialist, you need to work on your aim."

Valorie burst into laughter, tears springing into her eyes as Shepherd walked away with Allen and Noah. Pvt. Iris and Spring looked at Valorie confused. Hadn't she just been insulted? Valorie gripped her sides in laughter, knowing that this hysteria was a symptom from lack of sleep. As soon as it began, her fit died down, and Valorie spit on the dirt. "Yeah, let's see you lug a two hundred pound man over a battlefield and shoot a pistol, old man."

Valorie stalked over to a waiting Humvee, ready for a well deserved break that she would never get. Pvt. Iris and Pvt. Spring looked at each other. Neither wanted to be the first to enter the Humvee, so both pushed each other forward, eventually falling to the ground and wrestling as they tried to escape to a different Humvee. Pvt. Spring saw one last open seat next to Foley in a different vehicle and darted towards it, shaking free of Pvt. Iris's grip. He was about two feet away from it when he was caught by his collar by Dunn.

"What's wrong? Scared of Specialist red over there?" Dunn asked. Pvt. Spring nodded his head quickly, and Pvt. Iris followed his lead. Dunn jumped inside the Humvee, slamming the door. He leaned out the window, looking at the two privates. "Two things you boys better learn about the Specialist over there. Don't piss her off, and definitely do not lie to her, especially about injuries."

"You boys coming or not?" Valorie yelled out the Humvee's window. She wanted to get back to base. This heat was aggravating her. It made the blood on her vest reek. "I will leave without you two!"

"Great job, you broke the first rule. See you at base!" Dunn's Humvee sped off, and both privates looked at each other, beginning to sweat. Only when Valorie roared from the window once more did they dart into the Humvee, much to their dismay.

"Finally. I bet you boys don't keep your girls waiting," Valorie muttered, slouching down in her seat. She settled down for a catnap, tilting her helmet over her eyes and putting her sunglasses on.

"Do you think what Corporal Dunn said was true?" Pvt. Spring whispered to his companion, glancing nervously at Valorie. Pvt. Iris shrugged.

"Hell hath no fury like that of a woman," he quoted, turning to watch the scenery.


	3. In The Vault

I'm so sorry it took so long! To make up for it, this chapter was eleven pages on Word. O.O

Many thanks to **UnfinishedCadenza**, **ita-chan01**, **Arhani 'Danny' Daforcena**, **shadowsghosts** and **ectoB1**, my beta! ^^

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own CoDMW2. Infinity Ward does. Pretty sure about that.

* * *

Common nightmares often include the monster under the bed, the boogeyman in the closet, the reaper coming for his harvest. Nightmares were always something that ended when the daylight broke, a trick of the mind that frightened one into a stupor that could last for days. Mornings were the saviors of dreamers who had nightmares, chasing them away and showing them that they were not real, and by emerging from the covers of the bed, the terrors were escapable for the day.

Valorie herself had many nightmares in her lifetime, and they certainly did not lessen when she joined the Army Rangers. This one, however… she had no words for it. It didn't follow any common practice for nightmares; it struck in the daytime, multiple horrors coming at once and in quick succession. Allen was dead. Russia was invading. America was burning. All the past events of the last week had cumulated into this grand finale of a horrible turn of events, from innocent civilian deaths to the burning of monuments and historic American land. The land of the free was being shackled by fear.

As Valorie waited, afraid, exhausted, and dirty, crouched in the drainage ditch behind a smoldering house in Virginia, she thought back to what Noah had told her, not two days before as she was on the airplane to the home front. Shepherd had transferred him to the mysterious 141, mainly as a pilot. He also held the position of secondary captain to assist the one already in place. He said it was great; the food was awesome, the beds were warm and not filled with sand, the guys were all amiable. Valorie snorted as she recalled that conversation. Here she was now, under heavy fire and watching carnage surround her as Noah lived it up on some prissy base. She shook her head, shaking off her animosity towards her friend as well. She tried to think back; Noah had told her of a specific mission in which the other captain and a sergeant had infiltrated enemy lines to retrieve a downed ACS module. Wistfully, Valorie glanced up at the sky as Russian fighter jets soared overhead. She supposed even the elite band of brothers at Encounter Base had a bad day. Unfortunately, the screw up now landed on the Rangers at Army Base Phoenix to fix, and whether she liked it or not, Valorie had a job to get her boys back home alive.

Not five minutes ago, Hunter 2-1's Humvees had been blasted by an enemy BTR. Sergeant Foley had given the order to abandon the convoy fast enough, and the eight members of the squad were now glancing anxiously about, several eyeing planes that flew overhead.

"Squad on me," Foley called, trying not to draw attention to the group of disheveled troops. The call that they were going home to fight had been a complete shock, and many were still in dismay at seeing their country burning. Valorie slapped one whose mouth was hanging slack as he looked at a Russian launch a grenade at a fleeing car, shaking him out of his stupor. Each soldier took a knee or crouched next the Foley, ducking once in a while as a response to stray bullets or anxiously looking over their shoulders. Valorie scanned everyone's faces. Dunn kept nervously peeking over his shoulder. Pvt. Iris and Pvt. Spring stood close to her, crouched and cautious. Valorie glanced at the newest member, Pvt. James Ramirez, who regarded Foley with cool acceptance. He seemed unperturbed by the chaos in the air. The last two men looked at Foley, waiting for orders. Valorie knew her own appearance was still haggard. Although she had gotten snippets of sleep after the fiasco at the Red Zone, it wasn't enough. The invading nightmares didn't help either.

"Raptor is about 300 meters north of here. We're going to secure him and get the hell out of here. Hooah?" Foley asked, trying to inspire his battalion. They still exchanged unsure looks and only muttered a reply. Silently, they followed Foley across the bridge. Valorie scanned her surroundings, Pvt. Iris and Pvt. Spring covering her flanks.

"Overlord, this is Hunter 2-1, requesting air support, over!" Foley called into his radio, leading the team into a home's backyard. The group held their breath as the Russian BTR rolled down the street, turrets scouting for any American that they could rip apart.

"Negative, Hunter 2-1, all air support is already engaged. Ground troops en route, but have encountered heavy resistance. Good luck, Hunter 2-1," Overlord blared over the radio. Foley glanced at Dunn, a furtive look that the two shared. They wondered just how bad this attack was.

"Copy that Overlord. Over and out," Foley responded, listening as Overlord's line went dead. He relished in the quiet buzzing, the temporary bubble of peace around his troops in the shelter of the backyard. For now, everyone was safe in this war torn country. The sergeant didn't know how long it would last.

"Sarge," Dunn squeaked, glancing nervously about, "Did HQ just tell us to go F ourselves?"

"Pretty much!" Foley glanced around the house, scanning the BTR. The quickest way to Raptor was being blocked, but a plan soon came to mind. "Okay, team, hang tight; BTR hasn't spotted us yet. Do not fire, got that? Ramirez, you're gonna pop some smoke to give us cover on my mark. Understood?"

All the rangers nodded with apprehension, nervous about taking down an armored tank. Valorie was checking her medical supplies, making sure she had everything she would need and extras. Quietly, they followed Foley onto the torn up street, sewage leaking out from the cracks, gas explosions occasionally erupting. With all this carnage, it was a living minefield; one false step and a leg could be blown off.

Valorie marveled at what she saw. Dolls from small girls littered the street, burned and blackened; bikes from teenage boys were twisted and mangled, sick trophies for the Russians. Some houses had already been ransacked and ravaged, and Valorie glanced down as she stepped on a photo frame. She stooped quickly to pick it up and examine it. The glass was missing, but inside the photo was mostly intact, showing a smiling four member family. Valorie squinted at it some more, wondering what the dark splotches on the picture were. After realizing what it was, she dropped the picture quickly, stomach clenching.

As soon as the BTR swiveled its turrets around, Pvt. Ramirez hurled three smoke grenades, effectively eliminating the tank's line of sight. The entire squad sprinted into the alley, guns blazing. Valorie took down one enemy while running full speed, not having time to think about it as more gunshots rang from the alleyway that the squad was entering. Valorie dove behind a dumpster, listening as the bullets pinged off the metal. She hoped it would hold. Pvt. Ramirez joined her, jumping up to take down the enemy as they reloaded.

"Clear!" shouted Pvt. Iris, coming out from behind his cover. Everyone followed suit, and Valorie began flitting between all of them, checking for cuts, scrapes or major wounds.

"Everyone okay?" she called, fussing over Dunn. He pushed her off, knocking a fist against the side of her helmet and assuring her he was fine. She checked over Ramirez next, who calmly assured her he was still breathing.

"Specialist, you gonna give us all full body checks or are we gonna get to Raptor?" Foley asked, moving down the alley, beginning to take down hostiles massing at the gas station parking lot. Valorie smiled at the tough love, coming to a crouch next to her sergeant and began to pull the trigger on her M4A1.

"If I don't look after you boys, who will?" Valorie shouted over the gunfire, aiming and firing at a Russian running for cover behind a pick up truck. She sucked in a breath when the recoil struck the burns on her hands. The wounds from that day were still fresh and painful, constant reminders of Valorie's limitations and weakness. She hated them.

Moving quickly, the squad converged on a downed helicopter, metal twisted and bent in ways Valorie had not thought possible. Raptor was supposedly in here, but as Valorie peered inside the windshield, no one was there. She kicked the front of the bird, grumbling. The group pushed forward once again, steadily gaining ground. They meet up with the reinforcement troops in the middle of the fight, and a young soldier waved their band over.

"Private, gimme a sitrep! Where's raptor, do you have him secure?" Foley barked, squatting behind a car and firing. His squad fanned out loyally behind him, Valorie taking a knee. She pulled the scope up to her eye and fired, doing her best to wound, not kill. Not only did this not put more blood on Valorie's hands, but it also caused more Russians to leave the fighting; one unable to fight, two to carry the wounded.

"We've got Raptor, moved him to a meat locker. It's practically bulletproof! You got a medic with you?" The private yelled. Foley nodded.

"Red, go with the private, check on Raptor!" Foley ordered, letting out a quick burst of fire from his gun to end his sentence. Valorie scowled as one of her bullets ricocheted of a tree and hit a car, causing the engine to catch on fire.

"Send Dunn! I'm a combat medic, not a babysitter!" She screamed back, hitting her target this time. Foley scowled, sending it her way and Valorie sighed, knowing she was going to have to follow these orders. Still, she hesitated. Valorie didn't want to leave her squad; these men were more important to her than some business executive that never saw bloodshed, only heard reports. The troops risked their lives that the VIP seemed to not care about. Foley must have learned to scowl from Noah, because Valorie swore she had seen it before.

Valorie almost shrieked as she felt something hit her shoulder. She turned to see Pvt. Spring smiling, a refreshing sight. It astounded Valorie; how was this boy still smiling, even through the worst nightmare she was sure any of them had ever had? Hope radiated through him, as well as a drive to succeed and the will to win. His confidence flowed into Valorie, absolving her stubbornness.

"Specialist Red, we'll be fine. I'll let you know if any one of us gets hurt," Pvt. Spring promised, tapping his radio to show her how they would keep in touch. Behind him, Pvt. Iris puffed out his chest, nodding to Valorie. They were accepting the additional task of watching over everyone. Valorie searched their faces before nodding, running and dodging bullets with Pvt. Wells and looking back as much as possible.

Amidst bullets, fire and bodies, Valorie sprinted next to Pvt. Wells, diving into a burger joint as soon as a spray of bullets peppered at her heels. Two soldiers slammed the door quickly, even though the glass had been destroyed. The private pulled her over to a meat locker and opened it, revealing a slouched Raptor inside. Valorie set to work, checking vitals, looking for cuts, and examining the man. She checked his pulse, lifted up his eyelids to look at his eyes, and felt around the back of his head for wounds. He only had a few scrapes, evidence of his fight with the helicopter. The only major problem was that the man was unconscious.

"How's he looking, Doc?" Pvt. Wells asked, leaning over her shoulder as she disinfected a cut. The hydrogen peroxide foamed as it hit the wound, letting Valorie know it was doing its job and eating the bacteria. She reached into one of her pouches and hooked up an IV to the VIP's arm, just in case, before turning to Pvt. Wells.

"He'll be fine. The unconsciousness is a little troubling, but I see no head wounds; he should wake up within hours. You boys just gotta keep him safe," Valorie instructed, standing and yanking off the rubber gloves. She followed Pvt. Wells out of the locker, and he locked it from the inside before exiting.

Valorie crouched down of her hands and knees, flinching as bullets zinged into the restaurant, hitting the foam seats right above her head. Little tufts of cushion pelted her head, dust and dirt fling into her eyes. She cursed, dropping into prone position as she rubbed vigorously at her eyes. Valorie set herself into a sitting position safely, blinking away dust. She coughed viciously, placing her hand against her chest to monitor her heart beat. Among the screams of the dying and the cries of the wounded, Valorie tried to calm herself. Her blood was pumping in her ears, paranoia dancing across her mind. She felt jumpy and nervous, the effects similar to drinking one of those taurine filled energy drinks. Valorie closed her eyes and took steady breaths, calming her heart rate. The blackness in her eyes muffled the horrors of the outside grounds, and slowly Valorie began to unravel her tense brain.

Feeling something wet against her skin, Valorie opened her eyes, still watering from the dirt. She moved her hand around on her chest, feeling the front of her shirt cautious. When she removed her hand, it came back red and sticky, and she was sure it was not strawberry jelly. Valorie's breathing increased until she was hyperventilating, eyes becoming unfocused and livid, moving from object to object in the café. This was blood, the blood of a soldier, the soldier whose name she hadn't caught as she carried him to safety from the chaos of the Red Zone. Valorie's hands began to shake, tremors that couldn't get the blood off of her hand no matter how hard she shook them. It stuck to her like glue, with her wherever she went, and she feared it would never leave.

"Hey, Specialist! You alright?" Pvt. Wells called over to Valorie, watching her as if she was a caged animal. Valorie whimpered and turned glossy eyes to find the voice, that one thing calling out to her. Her eyes blinked twice and refocused, the pupil dilating and becoming larger as Valorie shook herself. She started, clutching at her shirt and examining it with scrutiny, eyes wide and disbelieving. She glanced up and nodded reservedly at the private. He shook his head. "Women."

Standing on shaky legs, Valorie began her rounds, checking for injuries and tending to the wounded. The fast food restaurant seemed to be a decent stronghold, for not many troops were seriously injured. Valorie was sewing up a gash on one sergeant's arm when she heard a whistling, a fast increase of air. The air pressure seemed to drop, and the next thing she knew Valorie was being pulled onto the ground. A Predator missile slammed into the asphalt outside the restaurant, shaking its foundations and blowing out any glass that hadn't already been destroyed. Dust flew into the air, obscuring all forms of vision. Valorie hacked, trying to get her lungs free of grime. She thanked the sergeant, who had shielded her, shaking off some glass fragments.

"Any injuries?" Valorie yelled, her voice cracking. A few moans and groans, plenty of curses, but no immediate screams of pain. Valorie sighed, content, and glanced out the window.

There was something moving in the dust cloud, lying prone to the ground and inching across it. Valorie squinted and noticed a flag sewn into his uniform. The dust settled. Valorie got a better view of the soldier, definitely a Ranger. The poor kid hadn't made it inside fast enough, and the blast had caught one of his legs, blowing it off. He stopped moving, and Valorie thought he was dead, until he rolled over onto his back and coughed. She wasted no time, pushing herself up onto her legs and taking off toward the soldier, yelling at one of the privates to follow her. She pushed open the shell of the diner's door, darting out into the open.

"Specialist! What the hell are you doing?" screamed Pvt. Wells from the safety of the diner, looking at the crazy medic and her reluctant partner. Valorie tossed her weapon aside as she clattered to the ground next to the fallen man, who was once again unresponsive. Valorie placed her ear against his chest, and very faintly hear his heart beat, and felt his breath tickle her ear. Wasting no more time, Valorie lifted him up carefully with her assistant, who looked quite pale. They dashed back inside, running to the back of the restaurant. Valorie swept her hand across a table, clearing the glass off of it before setting down the man gently. It would have to do for a surgical table. Valorie ripped open an IV, slipped the needle into a vein and passed the fluid bag to her assistant. When he didn't take it, Valorie shot him a look.

"So…much blood," he choked, beginning to gag and dry heave. Valorie hung the bag on a nail that once held a photograph, not paying the soldier any mind as she became engrossed in her work.

"If you're going to puke," Valorie said, pulling out supplies from her bag, "do it in the corner."

Vaguely, Valorie heard stomach acid hit the floor as she rolled up what was left of the soldier's pant leg. She assessed the damage. It looked to be a clean dismemberment, a few tendons and muscles still showing beneath cooked skin. From the lower kneecap down, there was no more leg. Valorie slipped on new gloves, flexing her fingers in her second skin. She lifted the leg up gently, peering into the wounds. She shivered as the blood ran down her arms and trickled onto the ground, but reverted her mind back to the task at hand. Shrapnel was in the wound, and the larger pieces that Valorie could see had to come out. She attempted to pull it out, but soon realized that she couldn't hold the leg steady enough on her own. She huffed in frustration.

"I need help over here!" she called, cursing absently as the man on the table shook from a spasm. A private came running over, unaffected from the blood, and slipped on the gloves supplied by Valorie and supported the leg as Valorie dug around, looking for shrapnel. Blood flecked her shirt and pants, but she didn't care as long as she saved this life. Removing the debris the best she could, Valorie began to apply pressure to the wound. She looked at the soldier helping her. "Can you do this?"

He nodded, and Valorie showed him where to apply pressure. Her hands now free, she fumbled the collar of the soldier's uniform, looking for dog tags. When she found them, she cheered, discovering the name, rank and ID number of her mystery man. It also had his blood type, and Valorie pulled out the necessary type of blood she would need for a transfusion. Another needle and IV cord came out of the bag, and she hooked these up to his other arm. The original IV bag she replaced with a solution of procoagulants, formulas for making blood clot. She hung these up and waiting five minutes, watching as the solution took effect, the soldier's face became more lively, and the blood slowed down to almost a trickle. Valorie began to wrap the wound with gauze, tightly to stem the blood, and tied it to secure the bandage.

Valorie slumped into the booth, avoiding the blood and she pulled her legs up. She wiped the blood on her face using her shoulder, and scowled at the stains on her shirt and Kevlar vest when she noticed them. Sighing, she forced a smile onto her face. It hurt. "What's your name, private?"

"Pvt. Jack Rhipper, ma'am," he spoke in all seriousness. Valorie stared at him, not knowing if he was trying to be smart or truthful.

"You pulling my leg, private?" Valorie teased, cracking her shoulders and neck. The young man shook his head, glancing at the man on the table.

"So, he's going to alright then?" Pvt. Rhipper asked, sliding down onto the floor. He wrinkled his nose as he smelled the vomit across from him.

"Define 'alright,' private," Valorie snorted. The young man looked at her, confused, and asked her to continue, which she did. "There are two kinds of wounds in a war: physical and mental. The loss of a leg is physical, and although the leg won't repair itself, the blood will stop flowing and the wound can be fixed," Valorie paused, dismally looking out the window, wondering about her own boys. "Mentally, well… this war changes you, private. If you doubt that, all you have to do is search your memories. How many injuries have you seen, or limbs blown off, or brothers killed? He'll be alright physically, but that leg will be a reminder of how this war changed everything."

Valorie switched her gazed to the man on the table, leaning over him as he began to groan. Before he was totally conscious, the medic slipped a shot of morphine into his leg. If he was struggling around due to the pain, the wound could reopen.

"Can you tell me your name, rank, and ID number, soldier?" Valorie asked, checking his eyes with a mini flashlight. The pupils dilated like they should, so she began to take his pulse.

"Um… ahh…," He stuttered, his eyes scrunched in thought. Valorie glanced at him through her eyelashes, wondering if she missed head trauma. She relaxed as he answered.

"Name's… Steven McClarke, ma'am, ranked lieutenant last time I checked. ID is 001528…974," he spoke hoarsely, grimacing as he tried to sit up. Valorie pushed him back down, and she motioned for Pvt. Rhipper to get ready to hold him down. Lt. McClarke complied, looking around as he lowered himself. He smiled as he caught sight of a funny picture that hadn't been blown off the wall and asked, "Where exactly am I, ma'am?"

"Cut it with the "ma'am" crap, you're a higher rank than me," Valorie scolded, avoiding the question. Mentally she was prepping herself, rehearsing lines to tell the trooper he had lost a leg. The reaction was commonly despair, although anger was also common. Apathy happened rarely, but that was the one Valorie worried about the most. Post traumatic stress usually hit those who felt nothing towards losing a limb the hardest. Valorie sucked air in through her nose. "You were clipped by a Predator missile explosion. Your left leg is gone."

"…what?" Lt. McClarke's smile didn't disappear, and Valorie knew that this guy was a denial type. He glanced down at his leg and then back at Valorie, who nodded, not wanting to meet his eyes. Lt. McClarke looked to Pvt. Rhipper next, who placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh…" Lt. McClake closed his eyes and said no more.

"Is he…alright?" asked Pvt. Rhipper, nervously fiddling with his pistol. Valorie sighed, moving to switch the bandages.

"Go out front and check for more wounded, private," Valorie ordered, avoiding the question. He left, and seconds later Valorie's radio beeped. Her hands already engrossed in a project, she nudged the earpiece with her shoulder.

"Specialist, gimme a sitrep on Raptor," Foley's voice cut through the static, and Valorie heard gunfire on his end of the channel. Her heart gave a painful jump, wondering what was going on over there.

"He's unconscious, but no serious damage. Stable," Valorie quipped, examining Lt. McClarke's leg. The blood had slowed down to a trickle. With clean bandages, she rewrapped the stump and tied the bandage tight. "I've also got another injury here. Serious, can't walk."

Foley was silent before his sigh came over the airwaves. "We'll secure him too. Friendlies incoming."

Pvt. Rhipper walked back into the room, reporting no other injuries, and Valorie gave him her thanks. Checking the lieutenant's pulse again, she almost jumped out of her skin when he gave a bark of a laugh.

"Why would you guys take me with you? I've got no use anymore!" He laughed bitterly, spitting off to the side. He fixed Valorie with a venomous glare. "Why did you save me? I'm useless now!"

_Useless_. That word swam around in Valorie's head. She glanced down at her hands. Were they useless? Sure, she had saved the man's life, but would it be the same? How come she could never heal the men she saved completely?

A loud thud against the table brought Valorie out of her reverie. Pvt. Rhipper had his hands curled in the front of Lt. McClarke's uniform, slamming him down into the table. Valorie jumped at the private, locking her arms around his torso.

"Hey! HEY!" Valorie shouted, wrenching the private off his superior. She pushed him face first into a wall, holding him there. "Calm down!"

Pvt. Rhipper looked at Lt. McClarke, turning his head to look at him. "She saved your life, and you don't even thank her! What's wrong with you?"

Valorie dragged Pvt. Rhipper out of the back room, throwing him the last few feet. She whirled on him, eyes blazing. "You dare insult one of my patients like that?"

"He's an ungrateful little piece of-" Pvt. Rhipper started, but halted himself when he saw he now had an audience. Sgt. Foley and his squad had appeared, watching the scene curiously. Pvt. Iris and Pvt. Spring took two steps forward as Pvt. Rhipper stood back up, glaring at the back room. Valorie got in his path, arms crossed and her imposing form bearing down on the soldier.

"Go take a walk, cool your head," she ordered, staring him down. When he refused to move, she pulled the higher rank card on him. "That's an order. Now move, private."

Pvt. Rhipper pushed past Valorie's squad, all who started at him, daring to try something. Foley sighed, shifting the bundle on his back, which Valorie realized was Raptor. She cautiously mentioned Lt. McClarke, and without waiting for orders, Pvt. Iris and Pvt. Spring went to go retrieve the wounded soldier, returning moments later carrying him between the two of them. Lt. McClarke had his eyes shut, but Valorie knew he was awake.

"We've got him, ma'am," Pvt. Spring assured, seeing Valorie make a move to come over. Valorie gave Foley the approval for transport. Cpl. Dunn tossed her a rifle.

"On three we move. One… two… three, go, go, go!" Foley dashed out into the road, Valorie flanking him. She fired at any hostile that she deemed came too close, guarding the pieces of precious cargo. At the pace they moved, Valorie felt like a sitting duck in the road. She only exhaled as the group reached the back door of the restaurant. Raptor was set down in the meat locker next to Lt. McClarke. They locked eyes as the door shut, and Valorie gave him a nod through the shutting vault.

Leaning against Pvt. Iris, Valorie and the team made their way outside. Carnage was everywhere. Scowling, Valorie looked down at her uniform, caked with dirt, grime and blood. She had saved a life. This blood was not a stain, but an accomplishment.

Friendly air force flew overhead as the group booked it to the convoy. Helicopters began to land, bringing extra troops, and Valorie had to squint to keep the dust out of her eyes. Valorie jumped as her radio beeped, and she cautiously turned it on.

"Valorie, this is Noah, do you copy?" Valorie halted, Pvt. Iris slamming into her back. She glanced down disbelievingly at her radio, starting to move again.

"Noah? What the hell?" Valorie asked, walking over to her men. Everyone gave her a questioning look.

"Yeah, it's me. Listen, don't get in those Humvees. You're being transferred. That's an order, Val, from General Shepherd himself," Noah commented. "I'm touching down in the Blackhawk now."

"But-" Valorie tried, but Noah's voice cut her off once again. She fixed a glare to the helicopter.

"No buts. Say goodbye to your squad. It may be the last time you see them. You have five minutes Val. Noah over and out." The radio went dead. Valorie looked up with wide eyes, looking at her squad.

"What's wrong, Red?" Dunn asked, arms crossed and his posture trying to come off as being nonchalant.

"I… I'm leaving you all," she squeaked. Five minutes. Five minutes to say her goodbyes to the men who had protected her, who accepted her, who cared for her. Valorie looked up from the dirty road, right at her sergeant. He understood, nodding his head.

"You're leaving?" Dunn spat, glaring at the ground. His friend was leaving him, just like so many before her. Would she be another Allen?

"Shepherd's orders," Valorie mumbled, her dislike for the man growing. Dunn scoffed and stormed over to his Humvee, slamming the door. Foley gave Valorie's shoulders a squeeze, turning to face her.

"You remember to keep your head down, alright? And don't just act, you have to think sometimes," he advised, moving to the Humvee Dunn was fuming in. The two men who Valorie hadn't had the time to get to know nodded good luck to her, hopping into a vehicle. Out of the corner of her eye Valorie noticed the helicopter's blades start back up, letting her know Noah was getting impatient.

Valorie turned to Pvt. Iris and Pvt. Spring. They glanced at one another before opening their arms wide, wanting hugs. She nearly tackled them both as she latched onto her boys, not wanting to let go. One arm wrapped around each of their necks, pulling them close. They hugged her back just as tight.

"Now boys, don't get hurt alright? Mama Red won't be there to kiss any boo-boos," she chided, pulling away. Her voice wavered and her eyes glistened. Pvt. Iris snorted.

"Please. It will take more than a bullet to get us to stay down," he claimed, jutting out his chin.

"Nothing short of a flying death trap, that's for sure!" Pvt. Spring claimed, thumping his partner on his back. Valorie laughed.

"Take care of yourselves; you too, Private Ramirez. Now get going, boys," Valorie ushered them away to the Humvees with teary eyes. A piece of her was getting in that Humvee convoy with her squad, and she hoped it would keep all of them safe. Looking back constantly, Valorie clambered into the helicopter and Noah lifted it into the air, turning it to the west.

"How many did you save today, Ratchet?" asked Noah, urging the Black Hawk forward.

"Only one," she replied, watching the dust trail disappear down the highway.

"That's it?" Noah gasped, setting the chopper on auto pilot.

"Yes," Valorie sighed, turning to gaze at the carnage. It made her stomach churn. Glancing down at the blood on her uniform, she fixed Noah with a steely look.

"I'm afraid I'm going to loose many more."


	4. No Rest For The Wicked

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!: **VerityA, Flyingcrispi, ecto1b, UnfinishedCadenza, itachan-01 and shadowsghost**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing/no one except Valorie and Noah.**

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"Encounter Base, this is Captain Lennox, requesting permission to land, over," Noah spoke into his headset, flying the Blackhawk just above the tree line. The helicopter moved rapidly toward the Sierra Nevada, where the Task Force 141 base was nestled in a minuscule valley, sheltered from prying eyes. Noah had explained everything to Valorie, even the elusive submarine base. She noticed that he seemed awfully chatty about military secrets, and wondered if Shepherd had given him the authority to tell her. The answer was probably no.

Valorie sat tiredly in the back of the helicopter, strapped in securely and lazily looking out the window. If she wasn't so tired, the blur of trees may have seemed interesting to her, but the whirl of colors just made her eyes sting. She constantly wondered about the men in the meat locker, wondering if they had been rescued yet. It felt odd, flying to California; Valorie knew she was traveling through different time zones but yet the clock was not reversing the events of Virginia.

Nervously, she tugged a piece of hair out of her braid, twisting the dirty hair around her finger. It kept knotting, and each time Valorie attempted to untangle it, fifty more knots seemed to form magically. She gave up, tucking it behind her ear, and went instead to picking at her chipped kneepad, pulling off the beige paint in pieces and letting it drop to the floor. Noah was going to kill her for making a mess.

"Flight Control to Captain Lennox, bring it down easy; there's an injury coming in, Lovejoy has been hurt." Noah raised an eyebrow. Lovejoy, along with Rocket and Jester, had been sent on a reconnaissance mission two days ago. "You got that medic with you?"

"Yeah, I got her," Noah affirmed. Valorie shifted in her seat, pulling out blue rubber gloves and slipping them on.

"Good. Have her go immediately to Lovejoy. Over and out." Noah sighed. He had been hoping Valorie would get a break she desperately needed, away from all the death and destruction of the front lines.

"You got that, Val?" Noah asked through his headset, his voice sounding distorted over the whirling helicopter blades. He began to descend, and Valorie, after assuring Noah she was ready, watched a Little Bird come into sight from the west. From up in the sky, Valorie could see the entire base. She took no notice, however, and fiddled with her armband as she waited for Noah to clear the landing.

Valorie wrenched open the helicopter's doors, stepping quickly into the California sunshine. She wished she had sunglasses, for the sun beat painfully on her eyes. She shielded them, and caught sight of General Shepherd standing by a two story building, subordinates watching her curiously. He gave her a nod, and then pointed to the incoming aircraft. Valorie realized that she was being tested, tested to see if she was truly elite material. She didn't think it was very appropriate as she walked hastily to the shutting down helicopter. Immediately, two men supporting an injured comrade stepped down, the jostling movement causing a gurgled scream to come from the hurt man. Valorie didn't like the sound of it, furrowing her eyebrows as she motioned for the two men to lay him on the ground carefully. They crouched next to Valorie as she carefully removed the flak vest and began to assess the damage. There were two gunshot wounds, one through the hip, and Valorie surmised the pelvis was either cracked or shattered, and the other through the chest. Worried, Valorie undid the front of the soldier's uniform, and she felt her stomach drop to her knees. The bullet had pierced clean through, but it had hit the left lung in the process. The scream was probably gargled because of blood collecting in the lungs. Valorie began to apply pressure to the wound, knowing she couldn't do much more without proper tools.

"You two," Valorie demanded, and the uninjured soldiers snapped their attention to her, "Go get a stretcher. Now."

They darted away, and Valorie was glad; the way they were watching her like hawks was unnerving. Hearing the soft thud of footsteps behind her, Valorie glanced up to see Noah, coming down on his haunches next to her.

"What can I do, Valorie?" He asked, and Valorie could see that there was genuine worry and fear for his subordinate in his face. She motioned for him to get gloves out of her bag, and once they were on, she instructed him to put pressure on the lung wound. Noah winced as the blood began to seep through his fingers.

Pulling tweezers out from her bag, Valorie glanced up at her patient's face. It was pale and sweaty, his breaths coming as gulps of air. As she dug around in her bag, she addressed him directly, to try to keep him awake and distract him from the pain. "Give me your name and rank, soldier!"

"Name's Lovejoy, ranked Second Lieutenant in the British Army, ma'am," he gasped out, chest heaving. Noah looked up as more blood came through his fingers. Valorie told him to apply more pressure.

"Lovejoy, this is going to hurt. I'm going to get the bullet out of your hip, okay?" Valorie spoke, gauging his reaction. He nodded, fists clenching. Valorie continued. "I want you to tell me and Captain Lennox all about your family as I do so, okay?"

He nodded painfully, and Valorie instructed Noah to hold one of Lovejoy's hands. Immediately, the pain caused Lovejoy to squeeze tightly, but Noah was ready for it and clutched his hand back with much force. Lovejoy began to ramble what he remembered about his family, and Noah listened and talked to him. Valorie put some morphine into his hip—her last shot—and gently began to probe inside the bullet wound, searching for the round. It was deeply lodged inside his bone, and Valorie took in a deep breath as she grasped it with her tweezers. The morphine wouldn't have spread quickly enough to cover the bone, so she would have to do this quickly.

"Okay, on three Lovejoy, I'm gonna get it out; one," Valorie pulled it clean out, hiding it from Lovejoy's sight, then counted again, "two, three! It's out, Lovejoy, good job!"

"That… that's it?" He croaked, fixing his blue eyes on Valorie. He chuckled painfully. "I didn't even feel it come out on three."

"That's because this magician over here took it out on one," Noah chided, color returning to his face.

"Hey! Don't go giving away−" Valorie stopped talking as Lovejoy coughed repeatedly, each time become more violent and producing more blood. His lung was filling up. Valorie hastily switched places with Noah, who applied pressure to his hip now, as Valorie moved closer to Lovejoy's head.

"Any blood in your mouth, spit it to the side, Lovejoy," Valorie instructed. He hacked, and a glob of red saliva landed on the sandy ground. Valorie wiped at the sweat on her forehead, beginning to panic. Lovejoy needed a hospital, now. His lung needed to be drained.

"Ma'am! We have the stretcher!" The two other soldiers came running around the corner of one building, almost tripping as they made the curve. Between them was a simple medical stretcher, bouncing with their strides. When they reached Valorie, the four of them carefully lifted Lovejoy—who screamed bloody murder—onto it. Noah ordered them to take him to the field hospital immediately. Valorie made a move to go with them, but Noah caught her wrist and held her in place.

"Let me go, Noah." Flashes of the battle at the Red Zone ran through Valorie's head, the soldier from the Humvee she could have saved if Noah hadn't stopped her. Noah recoiled at the venom in her tone, but didn't release his hold.

"Negative, Specialist," he commanded, and Valorie raised an eyebrow at the tone. He tugged her toward the two story building, and Valorie kept looking back at the direction that Lovejoy had been taken. Noah urged her faster. "You've got people to meet."

"Can't that wait? I have to see if−" Valorie cut herself off as Noah stopped short, pointing to her face.

"Yuck. You've got dried blood on your face Val," He snorted, but his eyes calculated Valorie as she began to swipe her cheek furiously on her shoulder, almost rubbing the dirt and her skin clean off.

"Is it off?" Valorie asked, wiping once more for good measure. Noah's eyes narrowed in the slightest and he nodded, and Valorie was left with the feeling that she had just failed an unannounced quiz. Noah led the rest of the way to the building, which he explained was the central hub and command center for the base. It was nothing special, Valorie realized as Noah opened the door with an unnecessary flourish. Dirty linoleum, poor florescent lighting, and beige walls that were dotted with motivational posters greeted Valorie's sight. Noah led her down to the last room on the right, once again opening the door famously. Valorie smacked him upside the head, then froze when she realized all eyes were trained on her.

"Shit," she muttered, snapping to salute her commanding officers. They both gave a collective chuckle, and Valorie relaxed slightly. At least they were not a group without a sense of humor. She stood, squirming a little, as the two pairs of eyes in the room took in her appearance. Valorie winced when she thought about it; dirty, blood all over, greasy hair, a running nose due to the dirt, and the shadows under her eyes.

"Specialist Valorie Red?" The man behind the desk asked, looking up from a manila folder. Valorie nodded, still at attention, but was surprised to discover a Scottish accent interweaver with his speech. "At ease, lass. Says ya here ta be our new medic."

"I presume so, sir. I was told to get in a helicopter by Noah—uh, I mean Captain Lennox—and that I was being transferred. That is all," Valorie answered, loud and clear, just like she was trained to do, and let her eyes sweep around the room. She visibly jumped when her eyes landed on the other male, a skull balaclava covering his face. The way he just blended into the shadows like a ghost reminded Valorie of how quickly Death was able to creep up on her. A crease line formed in the mask and Valorie just knew he was laughing at her.

That mask reminded Valorie of who these two men were. The Rangers back at Firebase Phoenix would always take about how they could take down The Pit in under twenty seconds. The commanding officer had to be Captain Mactavish, and his XO must be the elusive Ghost. The name fit him, all right, Valorie thought as she placed a hand over her fast beating heart. She had never liked surprises.

"Permission to speak, sir?" Noah stepped forward, and Mactavish motioned him on. "General Shepherd and I both spoke, and we agreed that Specialist Red would be an on-staff medic, meaning she wouldn't come out on the field with us. Rather, she'd help Doc in the hospital here."

Ghost saw the Specialist's face steadily turn redder, mouth dropping open as she started at Captain Lennox. Even Mactavish's eyebrows raised, and he steeped his hands together as he observed Noah. Ghost remained silent, knowing that the new medic was about ready to burst, and chose to let Mactavish handle the situation.

"Permission to speak freely, _sir_?" hissed Valorie, and Mactavish just granted her permission before she spun on Noah, metaphorical guns ready to blaze. "So it's your fault! Your fault that my boys are going on the most dangerous mission at the Capitol and I am not there with them! Noah, how could you?"

Noah knew that his plan was malfunctioning right there on the spot. The embarrassment he felt caused him to go on the defensive, and the strict formalities permeated his speech. "Specialist, I suggest you rephrase that sentence into something more respectable to say to your commanding officer."

Valorie got in his face, voice dropping to a growl. "Commanding officer my ass. You were my friend first, Noah, and when I have permission to speak freely I will speak to you however I goddamn want!"

"Alrigh', enough, both of ya," Mactavish warned, leaning forward in his chair. He looked to Valorie, who glared at the wall behind his head. "Do ya think ya can handle it here, Specialist?"

"In all honesty, sir, yes," She explained, happy to have stopped arguing with Noah. "But, I don't want to be here."

Noah threw up his hands up, exasperated, and walked out of the room, making sure to slam the door on his way out. Valorie scowled at it, then spun back around to listen to Mactavish respectfully. He pressed his hands to the desk as he addressed Valorie, interested in her response. "Do ya think that the Rangers are better than my men in the 141?"

"Absolutely not, sir," Valorie countered. "Soldiers are soldiers, just as men are men; all equal. But I don't think rotting in a hospital when I could be out on the field is a smart idea—no offense, sir. As a combat medic—key word there, combat—I am trained to minimize casualties and be effective in saving lives. Nowhere in my job description does it say to remain stationary and wait for incoming casualties. Going to Noah's option, I blatantly refuse to be stuck in a hospital. If I can increase the survival rate while I'm on the field, why should I be stuck in a hospital where more dead bodies enter than a morgue?"

Ghost looked to Mactavish and shrugged. Mactavish looked at Valorie once again. "So, what're ya tellin' me, Red?"

"Send me back," Valorie all but pleaded. "As soon as possible."

Mactavish studied her for a long time; the weary eyes, the gaunt face, and all the dirt and blood. She reminded him so much of how Ghost used to look, right after Shepherd picked him up after Rojas's elimination. Just like Ghost had lost his family, the Specialist had lost hers, but unlike Ghost, she could go back and do something for them. Mactavish rubbed his forehead. Doc and Chemo would not be happy to hear that they had lost a medic, but it would take at least two weeks for all the transfer papers to go through again. They could use her medical knowledge until then, and maybe by then this war would be over.

"Two weeks." Valorie looked up, confused. "It'll take two weeks for ya transfer ta go through. Until then, I want ya workin' just as hard as the medics on base and off, fo' your first mission will be in combat. Are we clear?"

"Crystal. Thank you sir; thank you so much!" Valorie could have fainted right there from relief. Two weeks and then she was back home on the battlefield with her boys.

A knock interrupted what Mactavish was going to say, and in hobbled a soldier on crutches. They supported his weight, but Valorie didn't think his leg was broken. He was struggling to hold a box of files, and just as he was about to drop them, Valorie caught the box carefully. The young soldier breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you—" he began, looking up at Valorie. He nearly dropped the box again. "MA'AM?"

"Uh," Valorie started, searching his face for answers. Without all the dirt and grime, it was hard to recognize soldiers. "Do…do I know you?"

"Red Zone," he tried. Valorie gave him a blank stare. The young man's face began to turn a tad red. "I uh, I called you Mama when I woke up."

"Scarecrow, what are ya doin'? I thought I told Jester to bring me these," Mactavish spoke, opening the box as Valorie set it on his desk. Ghost stepped forward, taking a file out of the box.

"Well, he…got busy?" Scarecrow tried. Mactavish raised an eyebrow, obviously not buying it. Scarecrow shuffled his feet, only to wince and reposition his weight. He spoke no more, not wanting to further incriminate a teammate.

Valorie crossed her arms, scrutinizing the man next to her. Her eyes traveled down to his ankle. "Is it bothering you?"

"Not as much as it did," he explained, demonstrating by putting his weight on it tentatively. "Chemo says I'll be off the crutches in two days and then it's back to the field."

"That's outrageous," Valorie exclaimed. "You should at the minimum have two weeks off that leg."

"Yes, well…," Scarecrow said, rubbing his nose. He thought of his partner back in the Humvee from the Red Zone. He hadn't gotten a break, not even a leave when his wife gave birth to his first daughter. Why should he? "This war needs to be won."

Valorie snorted; another war crazy man. What good had that done Allen? He was lying cold in Russia, no way to return his body back home. Valorie rubbed at her nose, trying to get the crusty snot from under it. She succeeded in flaking some dried blood off her tattered gloves, not cleaning the snot, and watched it drift lazily to the floor. Scarecrow noticed, as did Mactavish and Ghost.

"Scarecrow," Mactavish addressed, and the man snapped to attention. "Show Specialist Red the showers. I think she could use one. I've got some paperwork to do. You'll be briefed in two hours fo' the next mission, Red. By then, I want ya acquainted with the base an' especially with the hospital."

"Yessir," Valorie saluted, subconsciously slurring her words. It was a relaxed form of her accent, one that she had tried to suppress, but being in the presence of another must have brought it out. The valleys of Pennsylvania had a unique accent, one that always sounded outrageous. Valorie followed Scarecrow out of the room. He thumped beside her on his crutches, keeping pace as they went down the hall.

"Didn't know you spoke funny," he commented, hobbling along. Valorie closed her eyes briefly.

"You heard me? I usually try to suppress it," Valorie commented. "Hain't it a kinda funny way to talk?"

Scarecrow stopped, stared, and burst out laughing. Valorie covered her face, trying to hide her smile. When she had been in college, no one would ever take her seriously due to her accent. She usually got called names, most commonly "hillbilly" or "redneck". To fit in, Valorie had learned to hide her accent, but it never truly went away. It was a subconscious fear of Valorie's to be insulted and made fun of for how she was. Now, after years of hiding it, Valorie could feel her accent coming out in full force. "It's horrible, hain't it?"

"N-no," he gasped out, wiping at his eyes.

"Liar." Valorie pushed him lightly. "You walk around my hometown and every couple-two-tree people are talkin' like me. Youse think I'm bad, try an' get Noah—uh, Captain Lennox—to show ya his accent. He grew up way out in da boonies, hunting all dem dere critters."

Scarecrow promised he would try, leading Valorie to the showers. It was a simple, one story building, and when Scarecrow shouldered open the door, Valorie saw that there were only about five stalls. Scarecrow spun on one crutch to face her. "Pick any one you like. They lock on the inside. I'll get Captain Lennox to get you a new uniform and boots."

"No boots," Valorie said, hiding her accent again, and untied the laces. She observed the scuff marks and bloodstains with interest, before placing them side by side on the floor. "New pair wouldn't last long and would only cause blisters. These are already worn in. I won't deny that I need a new uniform, however."

Scarecrow left the building, promising to send Captain Lennox with a new uniform. Valorie curled her toes, feeling the dirty floor under them, and undid her flak vest. She let it fall to the floor, then unbuckled her helmet with a sigh. It clunked to the floor, rolling under the bench and settling contently, half hidden in the shadow of the bench. Tugging out her hair tie, Valorie ran her fingers through her grimy, greasy hair and winced. Eagerly, she entered the third shower and flipped on the water, making a mental note of the fifteen minute time limit. She waited expectantly, but instead of being greeted with a warm stream of water, the shower head let loose a fat drop of water. Valorie scowled, standing on her tiptoes to twist the nozzle. The pipes made a low rumble and then sprayed water full in Valorie's face, much to her displeasure. Valorie stared blankly, not shock at all that this had happened, and dropped her head.

Her stomach became unsettled as soon as she noticed the color of the water streaming into the drain. Valorie covered her mouth, unable to tear her eyes away from the swirling red water circling the drain, and tried to fight down the bile. Her vision began to blur and her temples began to throb, and Valorie stumbled and collapsed roughly against the wall, crumpling in the corner as black spots began to dot her vision. Next, her hearing morphed into a dull buzz, the running water disappearing into the deaf void. She was alone here; neither light from her eyes nor sound from her ears reached her receptors, leaving her totally vulnerable. Valorie grabbed her legs blindly and pulled them close, just before feeling disappeared from her limbs.

"Val? I've got your clothes!" Noah entered the shower house, carrying a fresh and clean uniform and some of Valorie's other belongings. He was still miffed about Valorie's ungrateful behavior; couldn't she see that he just wanted her safe? He had lost too many friends to this conflict, and he wasn't prepared to lose his closest one. Noah stopped when Valorie didn't respond, raising an eyebrow. He moved over to the shower door and knocked gently. "You okay, Val?"

Through the fog covering her ears, Valorie could hear someone calling her, and she tried to answer. Her tongue felt like cotton in her mouth, but she tried, tried so very hard and she thought she was able to form the word "Help."

Over the water, Noah heard a whimper. He dropped to his knees in a puddle, looking under the door and saw Valorie's knees clutched to her chest. Noah shot up and rammed the door, breaking the lock, shut off the tap, and knelt next to Valorie. He grabbed her arms to just let her know he was there.

Valorie felt someone grab her arms, and as her fit began to become less severe and she could sense sight and sound again, she lifted her head from her cocoon and tried to blink away the spots. They were colors now instead of the pure blackness, so Valorie knew she was going to be fine soon. Her hearing had already returned. She recognized Noah's voice as he called her name once again.

"I'm here, Noah, just…just gimme a sec," Valorie struggled, clenching her hands to see if she had feeling. She was pleased to find out she did.

"Was it the syncope again?" Noah asked, looking over Valorie. He was no medic, but he did know how to staunch blood flow and put a band-aid on a cut.

"Yeah," Valorie affirmed, holding out her hand. Noah pulled her to her feet, watching as she swayed unsteadily before breathing deeply and righting herself. "The, uh… lack of sleep caused it."

Noah nodded, and after making sure Valorie could stand, passed Valorie her clothes and held the door shut as she changed. Valorie came out a few seconds later, avoiding Noah's unwavering gaze. She sat down on the bench to catch her breath.

"You going to be okay?" Noah asked, gathering Valorie's equipment in his arms. She put her hand to her forehead and nodded painfully, trying to fend off the headache.

"Get me a chocolate bar or something," she mumbled.

"I've a better idea. Hospital, now," Noah commanded. Valorie looked up so fast her vision spun once again.

"So I can check on Lovejoy? Well, lead the way," she complied. Noah fixed her with a scathing look, but led her outside into the blinding sunlight. It caused her head to burst, and she shut her eyes quickly. Noah passed Valorie his sunglasses. He led her down a row of tents to a simple, one story building. He ushered her inside. Valorie inhaled the scent of formaldehyde, losing herself in her thoughts and memories. The dull sense of duty pounded in Valorie's brain and she pushed herself off the wall with a groan, walking towards a busy looking medic. His name tag simply read "Doc". Valorie knew she had the right person.

Noah caught Chemo's arm as he ran past. The medic yelped, fumbling with his clipboard before turning angrily to face Noah. Slowly, the captain raised his arms in defense, knowing how difficult it could be to talk to a stressed medic.

"Easy, Chemo," Noah said. "I'm just looking for a place to put an overworked soldier."

Chemo barked a sour laugh. "Look around, Captain; We're packed full to the brim and still haven't seen that new medic around."

"I'm right here." Valorie walked around the corner, pulling on a white lab coat over her camouflage and a half eaten Chewy bar hanging from her mouth. She came to a stop next to Chemo. "Lead the way, sir."

Chemo gave a huge sigh of relief, moving down the hall. Before Valorie could follow, Noah caught her arm, his face totally thunderous. Valorie just gave him a tired smile, tugging her arm out of his vice grip.

"It's my job, Noah," Valorie said, turning to follow Chemo.

Noah pulled his last trick out of his sleeve. He knew it was dirty and cold, but it was his last chance to knock some sense into Valorie. "What would your mother say to you?"

Valorie froze, in the middle of fixing her coat. She turned to face Noah, face smooth and blank. "She would ask me, 'What the hell are you doing?'… And you know what, Noah?"

He nodded at her, waiting for her to go on.

"I wouldn't have an answer for her. I'm still not so sure myself." Valorie turned on her heel, walking down the hall. She muttered quietly to herself. "But I damn well know I would have made that woman proud."


	5. Fallen From Grace

_I wanted to get this short chapter out, just because the Gulag is a long, long level. I feel like this was necessary though, because Valorie and Noah's downward spiral is beginning._

Thanks to all my reviewers! You guys mean so much to me! :D If you haven't reviewed, please do; I absolutely love constructive critism and I always resopnd 

_**DEAR VERITYA**:_ I tried again this chapter; tell me if I'm getting better.

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing/no one except Valorie and Noah. **

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Ghost glanced down the row of tents, noticing Valorie entering her own with a dazed expression on her face. He thought it strange; she should have been rushing to get all her equipment together for the next mission. Behind his sunglasses his eyes narrowed, and he redirected his feet towards her tent. He wasn't allowed inside-a rule set by Mactavish-but he stopped right outside the opening. Valorie was inside, looking down at a piece of paper in her hands, eyes staring but not seeing. Ghost knocked on the tent post and she jumped, clutching the paper to her chest. Ghost raised an eyebrow, and Valorie saw it rise from behind his glasses.

"You scared me, sir," she quipped quickly, rubbing at her eyes. One day, if he kept appearing out of nowhere and phasing out of shadows, Valorie was going to try to disprove that theory that ghosts could not be killed.

"What're ya up to, Ratchet?" He let his eyes trail to the paper clutched in her hands. His curiosity was sparked.

"Just, uh... an antebellum ritual, I suppose. Snatched this from the Red Zone," Valorie said, still not used to her new call sign. Mactavish had insisted it as necessary. Passing the picture to Ghost, she watched as he took it gently in his hands. She couldn't see his eyes, but by the dip of his head, she figured it had captured his interest. Valorie wrung her hands together. "Reminds me of why I put myself in danger."

Ghost returned the paper and Valorie folded it back up, slipping it into a pocket of her flak vest that was not occupied by rifle magazines. The silence overcame both of them, Valorie not knowing what to say and Ghost being as ominous as ever. Valorie was generally good at deciphering the true nature of people, a skill she prided herself on, but with this man it was so difficult. By the way his shoulders were held stiffly back and the way his feet were set apart, Valorie supposed she would be getting a lecture of some kind.

"Ya got all're equipment packed?" he asked, and Valorie nodded, pulling her restocked backpack out from under the cot. "How about your mind? That still functioning properly?"

Valorie started, looking into the skull, confused. "I... don't quite follow you, sir."

"Is your mind clear? Because I don't need a psycho medic on the field today. I need one that'll save my men, not have a bloody fainting fit." Valorie scowled, glaring at her burnt hands. They still hurt every time she thought about Scarecrow's partner from the Humvee. "I've read your file, Red, and after askin' Chemo about the disease, it seems like stress and lack of sleep is a dangerous combo for ya."

"I assure you, sir," Valorie said, defensive attitude emerging as she stood, crossing her arms over her chest. She made sure her tone was still polite and formal as she replied. "My job will not be hindered by the syncope."

Assuming he was looking at her, Valorie stared back at Ghost, chin held high and nostrils flaring. After a few moments, Ghost's shoulders sagged ever so slightly, and he spread his hands in defeat. "I'm jus' lookin' out for my men, Ratchet."

"I understand, sir," Vaorie's tone was soft. She knew what it felt like; that worry that made one sick, the weight of the lives that were held in one's hands, the constant fear of loosing the battle between life and death. "The longest I've went without has been sixteen hours. I slept for about three on the plane over to the States, so I should be alright."

"Alrigh'," he agreed, and he watched as Valorie strapped on her flak vest and backpack. Together they walked to the main field, where two helicopters were stationed. As Ghost approached, five soldiers stood from various positions, moving to one helicopter. A pilot climbed in and the blades started to whirl, getting ready to take off. This helicopter was taking the first group of soldiers to the sub base, where Alpha Team would infiltrate an oil rig before moving on to a prison called the Gulag. Valorie's team-made up of Jester, Angel, Taco, Mamba, Midnight, and she- would depart an hour after the first team. They would take part in the battle for the Gulag and this mysterious Prisoner 627. Valorie was secretly grateful. She knew if she was on the team headed for the oil rig, something wrong would happen with the mission. Stealth was not her forte.

Ghost gave a good luck to Valorie and she saluted him, watching as he took a seat on the Little Bird between a soldier named Pheasant and another named Worm. On the other side were Mactavish and Roach, a man who have given Valorie a shy wave when he first saw her. The Little Bird took off, and Valorie was glad for the breeze it caused; she was absolutely sweating to death in her thermal gear. She spun lazily on her heel after the helicopter was out of sight, not knowing what to do. Everything was caught up at the hospital; with her help, Chemo and Doc had managed to take care of all of the wounded and the dead. Then, Valorie had been briefed on the mission to the Gulag, details explained to her and the rest of the crew she was with. Noah had left shortly after the meeting; he was taking his proper place as a fighter pilot and manning one of the F-15s in the raid. Scarecrow had been given the job of handing out guns from the armory, and as Valorie didn't feel like putting on extra weight just yet, she hadn't picked up her M4A1. Seeing empty crates, Valorie moved to them and sat on one, pulling her legs under her. She unzipped one pocket on her vest, and pulled out her cell phone. It was an old thing; she'd had it since high school, but it still served its purpose. She flipped it up and began typing, a simple message to Dunn and Foley, just asking if everyone was alright. No sooner had she hit the 'Send' button, the phone went flying out of her hands, landing on the ground a few feet away. A beige boot came in contact with it not soon after, and Valorie looked up from her now empty hands to see a face jeering at her.

"No cell phones on base, dumbass," the soldier snarled. He scooped up the remains of Valorie's phone and threw it at her. She caught it clumsily, almost dropping it again. "Next time, I report you to the Captain."

Valorie watched him walk away, staring miserably at her phone. Her only lifeline to the outside world was now destroyed, and she had no way of knowing how her boys on the home front were unless she heard it through the grapevine. Tears sprung to her eyes. Everything was started to take its toll on her. Murphy's Law was striking again. Valorie was pretty sure that guy was a higher rank then her, but if he wasn't, oh boy, would she rip him a new-

Rubbing at her eyes, Valorie glanced over when she felt another hand on her shoulder. She followed it up to a Hispanic face, one that was looking at her sympathetically. He came around the crate and plopped next to Valorie, watching the offender's retreating back. "Angel, that _pendejo_, always treats the F.N.G.s like shit. Broke my damn watch the first time we crossed paths. Gift from my _abuelo_."

"Sounds like a great guy," Valorie spat, gingerly pulling out the SIM card of her phone. It was her last hope. The soldier seated next to her watched.

"You know," he started, rubbing at his chin, "I've got my own cell phone in my tent. Any time you need to send a message back home, I'll let you borrow it."

"Thank you. Oh, um..._gracias_? Is that it?" Valorie tried, hoping she was correct with the language. It was strange; a phrase that could be said so many different times held such a great weight to Valorie. Now she knew that her boys could contact her if needed. Carefully, she slipped the SIM card in with her precious picture as the man next to laughed and nodded, introducing himself as Taco, one of Valorie's squad members.

"Yeah, that guy... he's been even more horrible in the last day," Taco explained. He set to cleaning his gun, performing checks on it even though it as already spotless.

"What happened?" Valorie asked, tugging off her helmet. She began to French braid her hair, making it tight against her scalp so it wouldn't fall out in the coming battle. Taco's eyes turned away from his gun, sad.

"Girlfriend got caught up in the Russian attack in Virginia," he said. His gaze went dark. "_Bastardos_ did some unreal shit to her before they executed her. Angel's been raving mad since he got the call. On his own cell phone, might I add."

With that information, Valorie couldn't let her anger fester at the man. She couldn't imagine getting that call, letting you know that a loved one had been raped, mutilated, or killed. She pushed the dark images that began to seep into her mind away and looked to the sun, wishing it would go away. The heat was outrageous. "Well, then I can't blame him, can I?"

"Had no right to smash it," Taco mumbled, looking up as a shadow passed over the two of them. Looking up, Valorie was blinded by a white smile and cheerful eyes. Taco bounced up and clasped hands with the man, positively beaming.

"Jester, where've you been, _hermano_?" Taco cried, very happy. Valorie remained on the crate, watching the scene with a slight smile. It reminded her of that time Noah had gotten back from a month long hunting trip in Africa. She had been so excited to see him, to hear about all of his adventures. Now, she wondered if they were even on speaking terms, since Noah had been irate over her stunt at the hospital. He hadn't even said goodbye today.

"I was visiting Lovejoy. Poor kid's going insane at the hospital; lucky for Doc and Chemo he can't walk yet," Jester explained. His eyes turned on Valorie and the playfulness returned. "Oh, how the gods taunt me. Who is this beautiful creature before mine eyes?"

Valorie stared straight ahead, mouth squirming in uncomfortable positions as she tried to hold in laughter. Taco snorted. "Don't mess with her, _hombre_; she was ready to tear Angel apart a minute ago."

Jester's face turned serious. "What happened?"

"Smashed her cell phone," Taco explained. Jester turned to look at Angel, arms crossed. The other man caught his eye from across the yard and returned the strong gaze.

"I don't condone that, at all. He will be spoken to," Jester began, fuming, and turned back to Valorie. "But know that cell phone use is only allowed at certain hours. Just so it can be monitored."

"Understood, sir. I wish I would have known," Valorie said, standing and stretching. She popped her back into place.

"Not your fault, you are an F.N.G on base. Even so, Angel had no right to smash yours like that," Jester sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Sir, I understand from Taco that he is going through some rough times. Don't worry about it. Taco has been kind enough to let me use his. Just let it go," Valorie pleaded. Jester studied her before nodding.

"I'll forget about it. But if anyone, _anyone_, ever raises a hand to you personally, you come get me, Ghost, Mactavish or Archer. He's another CO, like me; have you met him yet?"

"No sir," Valorie quipped, happy to get away from the topic. "So far, I barely know anyone. I'm only here for two weeks."

"Ah. Well, if you get the chance, head down to the shooting range. You will usually find him there, along with his spotter, Toad. Outstanding what those two can do with a rifle." Jester looked at his watch. "Hey, guns up in twenty. Ratch, better go get your gun."

Valorie saluted, walking off to the armory. Scarecrow was at the entrance, sitting in a lawn chair and elevating his ankle. His face broke into a smile when he saw Valorie, and he moved off the chair into the shed, returning with an M4A1. He gave Valorie a proud look. "I remember that this was the one you used in the Red Zone. Cleaned it all up myself, as a small thank you for saving me."

"No thanks needed," Valorie said, clipping the rifle on her backpack. She strapped a pistol to her thigh, even though she knew she would never use it. "It's my job, Scarecrow. Besides, you weren't that heavy."

Valorie left Scarecrow laughing, turning to walk back to the Little Bird. A pilot had climbed in and the blades were whirling, signaling that the bird was almost ready to take off. Valorie plopped down next to Taco on the left side of the helicopter, making sure she was firmly on the outside seat. Once settled, Valorie looked up and was hit in the face with a hard backpack, the result of Angel swinging his backpack too close to her face. Her nose popped, but Valorie knew it wasn't broken, and tears sprung to her eyes. Taco's eyes flashed as he sprung up.

"Oi, _hijo de puta_! Apologize, you mother-" Valorie put a hand on Taco's arm, stopping him. She rubbed her nose and gave him a watery smile, but her eyes were serious.

"Let it go, Taco," she murmured. Angel snorted, having heard her, and pushed the two of them aside roughly before taking his seat on the other side of the helicopter. Valorie looked slightly over her shoulder, directing her next words at Angel. "Let it go, Angel. You can't do anything now."

"Shut up," he hissed. "You don't know a damn thing, bitch."

Valorie shrugged, and she looked up feeling eyes on her. That insult didn't faze her; actually, there were only three that she could not stand. Two soldiers were watching from across the yard, but they stepped away as Valorie noticed them. She wondered how much they saw. Jester took the last remained seat next to the fuming Taco, and Mamba and Midnight filed in unwillingly next to Angel. The helicopter, known as Hornet 2-2, lifted into the air and took off over the Pacific Ocean, and Valorie was thankful for the colder atmosphere. The breeze felt wonderful on her sweaty face. The radio chatter was silent on the helicopter, everyone knowing that Angel would probably throw them off the Little Bird if they spoke. Jester, funny guy attitude back, broke the unspoken law.

"So, why'd they send you from heaven, beautiful?" He said, smiling. Valorie almost fell off the helicopter from laughing; he couldn't be serious with that pick up line.

"Does it matter?" Angel spat over the radio, irritated that the silence was broken. Jester turned his upper body to look at him.

"Yes, considering this angel's gonna save some lives today," Jester said, calm. He fixed his subordinate with a pertinent gaze. Angel spit into the ocean.

"Or she'll just die, 'cause of that goddamn target on her sleeve," he snarled.

"Angel," Jester snapped. "Enough."

"Whatever. Just don't get in my way," he turned back around. Mamba scooted closer to Midnight. Valorie, who always had to have the last laugh, smiled wryly and looked at the sea foam.

"Don't get shot and I won't have to." She cracked her knuckles, relishing the tingly feeling that came from it. In sight was the smoking oil rig, where Alpha team was boarding Hornet 2-1. Valorie's helicopter hovered, waiting, before jumping into a triangle formation with both helicopters. Two F-15 fighter jets zoomed ahead, eliminating SAM sights along the coast. Valorie noticed Taco move out of her eye, and saw him pull out a Rosary and begin to pray. Jester too was performing his pre fight ritual, pulling out a keychain. It was the comedy and drama faces of antiquity, framed by a green, gold and purple jester hat. On the bottom in choppy letters, it read "Mardi Gras". He clipped this to a zipper on his vest and patted it tenderly. Valorie was scared to look at Angel.

"Everyone, synch your radio frequencies," Jester said, and Valorie reached down to turn a knob. Immediately she heard the background chatter of the other two helicopters.

"All in?" Mactavish's voice came through the radio. Affirmative answers came through everyone's speakers. "Alrigh'. Thirty seconds, everyone. Snipers, prepare to engage on my mark."

Taco reached behind him, pulling out a M14 EBR sniper rifle. Jester pulled out binoculars, and Valorie realized that he was the spotter, almost slapping herself for being stupid. Taco shimmied back into the helicopter, lying prone on the floor.

"Hornet 2-1, this is Jester 1-1, flight of two F-15s, four HARMs for the section. Standby for SEAD, over." Valorie listened to the radio chatter vaguely, feeling the tension start to build in the pit of her stomach. She wondered how much different it would be with these men than with the Rangers; would they stop long enough to let her patch them up? Would they handle blood better than that one private in Virginia? Would they watch her back?

The mini guns on the bottom of the Little Bird lit up, eliminating a guard tower and putting the prison on high alert. Hornet 2-2 broke from the pack, going left while Hornet 2-1 went right. Hornet 2-3 doubled back and went for the rear of the prison. Mactavish's voice came through the fighting on the radio. "All snipers, clear to engage."

Taco fired three quick shots, eliminating three Russians trying to uncover a SAM. Valorie was impressed. Jester ordered the pilot to shift left, and he did so, and Taco took out four hostiles with six shots. Valorie looked over her shoulder as she heard a F-15 zoom by. It cut awfully close to Hornet 2-1, and the downdraft of the jet caused the helicopter to flail wildly. Valorie heard Mactavish's angry cry from the Little Bird over the radio. Scrutinizing the jet, Valorie could have sworn the pilot was Noah, but she thought Noah would know better than to do something that risky.

"Hornet 2-2, you are clear to land, second wave following." Valorie felt the helicopter descend, and she braced herself. The bullets began pinging as soon as the helicopter entered the Gulag's airspace. Once the Little Bird was on solid ground, Valorie darted off it and threw herself behind a concrete barrier, beginning to return fire. She used her method of wounding the soldiers, not killing them, but she soon discovered that whatever Russians were not eliminated by her were soon disposed of by her other team members. Alpha Team had deployed now, and Ghost crouched next to Valorie.

"What're ya doin', Ratchet?" he yelled over the gunshots. He sprung up to take out two Russians advancing on their position before ducking back down. "Shoot to kill!"

Valorie stared at him, wide eyed. From behind his sunglasses Ghost stole looks at Valorie, wondering how she would react. She clutched her M4A1 closer to her chest, taking in gulps of air, blinking fast. Her hands shook as her squirmed out from behind the concrete slab, and Valorie stomach began to churn. Aiming down her sights, she fired at an incoming hostile, watching in horror as the bullet pierced his brain and sprayed grey matter everywhere. He dropped to the pure white snow, dead. Valorie vomited into her mouth, but she swallowed it back down. The acidic taste was disgusting, but to throw up in front of Ghost would show how weak she was. He was urging her forward now, pulling her up and pushing her along with the rest of the team. She stumbled and then picked herself back up, focusing on her pounding heart. Only Ghost and Mactavish noticed the change in Valorie's posture, how she slumped a little forward and her eyes were clouded beyond recognition. Both knew exactly what had happened.

That was the first time Specialist Valorie 'Ratchet' Red had killed.


	6. Looming Fog

**Special thanks o all my reviews, and my beta, VerityA! :D**

This chapter is the reason why I'm upping it to M rated. There is... quite some mouth gore; I think I have a subconscious affection for puking. Sorry. xD

_DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, not even MW3 that comes out 11.8.11. :D_

* * *

Another fell, and Valorie watched the blood splatter the walls with a tight stomach. Another pull of the trigger and brain matter dotted the walls. Another bullet fired and another life lost. For the moment, it was just an unwanted aspect of her job, one that she hated tremendously but did so willingly, but Valorie knew the reality of it would come crashing back soon enough.

She winced as her stomach clenched painfully, but nothing but empty spit rose in her throat. When she thought nobody had been looking, Valorie had emptied the Chewy bar into an empty cell. Now, only the resonating taste of bile and globs of clear spit came into her mouth, and she turned her head to get rid of the horrid taste. Quickly she followed Taco and Jester to two rappel lines, clipping herself on and jumping down the wall. It went smoothly, but at the bottom Valorie lost her footing on a slimy piece of moss growing out of the cracks. A straggling soldier that had been part of the first wave—Worm, she remembered his call sign—caught her around the waist before there was a horrible mess to clean up.

"Thanks," Valorie said, mouth dry from puking and spitting. It came out hoarse, but the man still heard it. He clapped her on the back and moved back to the front with Mactavish and Angel. Unclipping her rifle, Valorie reloaded it with a full magazine, and kept it at the ready.

It was then that she realized she couldn't see her rifle; Valorie couldn't even see her hand in front of her face. Whatever the team had dropped into was extremely dark, and Valorie began to feel smothered. She shifted a little, anxious for orders or information.

"Ghost, talk to meh." Mactavish's order broke the stone silence of he Gulag, giving the entire team and sense of security.

"Power's out in solitary. Advise switchin' to night vision," Ghost's voice came over the radio static, but everyone still understood him. Valorie pulled down the goggles, and with a sigh of great relief, she recognized Taco's face from out of the gloom. He flashed her a white smile and gestured her in front of him; he would cover her back and put Valorie at the middle of the squad. Roach took point, firing immediately after rounding the corner. Angel joining him, finger furious on the trigger, mowing down Russians much like the way they eliminated his loved one. With quick accuracy and fierce anger, the two eliminated all tangos on sight. The team moved down the dark hallway quietly, checking corners and empty cells.

A yell in Russian came from behind Valorie, and she spun to watch horrified, as Taco turned too late, eyes widening as the assault knife embedded itself in his chest. Even wounded, Taco whipped out his pistol and fired two rounds into his attacker's head, killing him instantaneously. Valorie darted to Taco, who was breathing was quickly becoming labored. Gloves already on, she carefully rolled him onto his back, and Valorie could have cried out in anguish. The blade resided in the upper left chest cavity, and by the deepness of it, she knew that the pulmonary artery was severed and possibly the superior vena cava, two major aspects of the heart. Mamba came to take a knee next to Valorie while Jester stood above her, guarding her as she worked. Valorie kept her face cool and impassive, like she was taught, but she knew there was nothing she could do except apply pressure. Removing the knife would only cause him to bleed faster.

Taco knew that too. His breathing was ragged, and blood was spewing out of his mouth like a fountain. With a shaky hand, he fumbled around in the front pocket of his vest and pulled out his treasured rosary, bloodied by his hands. He held it out to Valorie, who glanced up from working when she saw movement.

"You're gonna be fine Taco. Hold onto that for me, alright?" Valorie mentally screamed as the blood started to spurt from the wound. She could feel Mactavish's eyes on her, urging her to either save him and get him on his feet or leave him. Jester was close to her shoulder now, secretly watching his friend in anguish. Valorie heard Angel spit and could only imagine the comments being made in his head.

Taco placed a bloody hand on Valorie's arm as she worked furiously, reassuring her it was alright. Valorie rubbed at her sweaty forehead. "Not giving up, Taco. We still have time before−"

Shots were fired from the end of the hall, one hitting Taco in the head. It flew to pieces from the impact, filling Valorie's open mouth with skull and grey matter. Her mouth hung open for a minute, before gagging and viciously spitting. When she looked back, Taco was gone, half of his head missing from the bullet. The remainder of his brain flopped uselessly onto the cement, splashing in blood and fluid, and his right eye slithered out of the now non-existent socket.

Jester was the first to move, returning fire and grabbing the back of Valorie's vest, dragging her down the hall. She scrambled up to her feet after snatching her fallen friend's rosary, blindly following her XO's back. She turned back to see Mamba finishing off one Russian, following quickly after his task was done. Taco's body lay cold and motionless, still oozing onto the floor. Valorie bit her lip.

"What about Taco? We can't just leave his body!" Valorie cried, glancing back once again. Jester spun on Valorie, eyes hard. The look said everything he couldn't; how he wanted to take the body, how he wanted to turn back time, how he wanted his friend back. Valorie understood, quieting her complaints and following her team obediently, stashing the rosary safely in her pocket with her picture.

At the end of the tunnel, Valorie felt the air pressure drop but didn't have time to dodge as an F-15 bombed the Gulag. A large chunk of rock clipped Valorie's backpack, sending her tumbling, but she rolled right back onto her feet and helped Mamba to his. She checked for more injuries and with a sigh of relief, found none. Mactavish was furious.

"Shepherd, wha' the hell was that? Tell the Navy ta cease fire!" Valorie winced, her commander's booming voice cutting right through her. Fidgeting nervously, Valorie wanted to start moving again. If the Navy started the bombardment again, there was no way they would make it out alive. She didn't want to be a dead body left in the Gulag, like-

Valorie stopped the mental image of Taco and the taste of brain and bone in her mouth. She wouldn't think about Taco until after this mission, give him the proper remembrance he deserved. The only think keeping her from carrying his body herself was the fact the Navy's attack left a mirage of rocks, blocking the way the team had just come. Pressing her hands to her eyes, Valorie took a deep breath, blinking and looking around as Mactavish argued with Shepherd. Mamba shuffled nervously, rubbing his hands together; Midnight was kneeling quietly, not speaking. Jester was staring into nothing, face expressionless and void. Worm was wiggling in his shoes, eager to keep moving. Roach was absently watching a cockroach squirm up the wall. The last member of the squad sparked Valorie's anger as soon as she looked at him. Angel was glaring at her, and those eyes of his held all the blame on her for Taco's death. Valorie felt her fist clench and unclench, the desire to beat the shit out of him very strong. She stared, hard at Angel, secretly wondering why God couldn't have killed him instead of Taco.

She paused, and reran that thought through her head before becoming disgusted with herself. That's not how she was raised to think by her family, and she felt her insides churn with hatred towards herself this time. This goddamn place was messing with her head and morals, and she couldn't wait to get the hell out of it.

"Let's go; taking a shortcut, Ratch." Jester pulled Valorie gently by the sleeve to get her to move. She followed, complying half-heartedly. Thrity meters down the sewer line Mactavish motioned for Roach to place a breaching charge against the wall, and Valorie stacked up behind Mamba, Midnight close behind her. She flinched when the charge exploded, then filed into the gunfire. Immediately, almost like a newly found instinct, the gun flew up and took aim at several tangos on the second floor, and Valroie took down two of them before advancing, not knowing if she killed them of just wounded them. Darting around a shattered shower, Valorie came face to a Spetnaz officer. Both of them blinked at each other, before Valorie's hands flew up to defend herself, catching the two fists as they came flying towards her face. Self defense training kicking in, Valorie kicked her assailant hard in the groin, freeing herself from his grasp as he doubled over. Intent on finishing the job, she swiped her pistol from her side holster and fired three quick shots, watching as the body slumped onto the ground, splattering blood all over her boots.

With all the chaos in the room, Valorie had no time to think about what she had done. Slamming hard into the middle wall, Valorie aimed at two soldiers with her M4A1 on the second floor, but they ducked behind the concrete wall before Valorie could get her sights on them. Ghost's voice came over the radio. "Detectin' a large hole in the ground ten meters from your position. Quick way to Prisoner 627."

"Pinned down 'ere, Ghost!" Mactavish called back, shooting in vain at the wall of riot shields advancing towards them. "Damn! We need a plan!"

Valorie knelt down as she reloaded, hand absently brushing against her flashbang pouch. Grabbing a new magazine, she reloaded her M4A1 with deft fingers. Then she paused in the middle of reloading, head swerving violently to look at her vest. A plan was forming in her head, and it was so crazy it just might work. Valorie motioned Jester and Mamba over to her, explaining her plan. They looked at her skeptically, but complied to it anyway. They were getting no where just standing here.

"Alright, on three." Valorie withdrew four flashbangs, preparing to prep them. "Midnight, Worm, Roach, Mactavish; follow Jester!"

"Wait, Ratchet, what the 'ell are ya-"

"...two, three! GO!" Launching her cooked flashbangs, the four landed right in front of the advancing wall. Jester and Mamba sprinted through the opening, vaulting over the dazed Russians and leaping into the hole. Roach and Midnight looked at each other before hauling their asses, leaping over the line as the Spetnaz began to regain their sight. Valorie was ready; she launched her last four flashbangs at blinded them once again, shouting and pushing Mactavish and Worm in front of her. Valorie took the rear, hot on their heels, and she managed to grab a riot shield and launch herself over it, catching her left foot on the edge. Rolling, she dropped into the hole, feeling the air rush out of her lungs. Hands grabbed her and pulled her away from the opening as Valorie watched, through blurry eyes, two teammates launch frag grenades back into the hole to take care of any followers. She pushed her torso up, taking nice long gulps of air. She looked up at Jester, who had pulled her back, and he gave her a wink.

"Genius," he whispered.

Mactavish didn't think so. In one swift movement, he had Valorie in the air by the front of her vest, her face inches from his. She was surprised; she must weigh twice as much as usual with all her gear on. It must be he adrenaline, Valorie decided, nervously looking at her capain. His eyes were dangerously narrow and a vein was popping in his forehead. "Ya think it's funny ta put my men in danger? Well?"

"I just-"

"Ya just what? Didn't want ta hurt the Russians?" Mactavish was getting viciously close to absolutely furious, and Valorie was sure she was going to have a black eye very soon. She squirmed in his grasp, gloved hands clenching his wrists, tears pricking at her eyes.

"Mactavish! Calm down!" Jester stepped in, shoving his captain away. Valorie dropped to the ground on her butt, looking up cautiously. "She reduced casualties, got us closer to our objective, and kept everyone safe! You should be thanking her idea, not doubting her morals!"

Huffing, Mactavish gradually lost the red to his face, the vein disappeared, and his eyes relaxed. He offered Valorie his hand, and she took it gratefully, glad the moment had passed. Mactavish clapped a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. "The next time ya gonna do somethin' like tha, ya TELL me. Got it?"

"Yessir!" Valorie chirped, eager to get going. With a departing nod, Mactavish moved his team forward, and one by one they filed past Valorie, thanking her for her quick thinking. All except Angel, who instead offered a smart remark.

"Would've looked pretty with a shiner, Specialist," he sneered. Jester glared at him, having overheard the comment. Valorie sighed, rubbing her nose. The comments from the peanut gallery were not necessary right now. Proceeding cautiously, she almost had a panic attack when Ghost's voice came over the radio, specifically addressing her.

"Everything alrigh', Specialist? I thought I heard yelling..." Ghost trailed off, waiting for a reply.

"We're clear, Ghost." Valorie didn't go into details, leaping over metal bars and sliding down a slick slope. She heard her XO sigh before switching back to a public line, instructing Mactavish to two heat signatures thirty meters to his left. The squad advanced, Roach placed the breaching charge, and the wall exploded in a fury of concrete and stone. Roach began to move into the room, but Valorie jumped when he came sprawling back out, tackled to the ground and held at gun point by a man whom Valorie hoped was Prisoner 627. Mactavish was quick to respond, whipping out his own pistol and aiming it at the man's temple.

"Drop it!"

"Soap?" The man relaxed, sidling his eyes over to Mactavish. Recognition passed over the young captain's face before he spun the butt of his M1911 and handed it to the man.

"Price; I believe this belongs to you, sir," he responded. Valorie moved over to Roach, checking for any head wounds before helping him onto his feet. He leaned on her, rubbing his backside painfully.

"Is it possible to break your ass?" He pondered. Valorie snorted.

"Who's Soap?" Worm scratched his head. A resounding boom cut off any answer, prompting the entire team to duck in caution. Jester, Mamba and Midnight motioned frantically for the rest of the squad to follow them, already running to the evac sight.

"Bravo Six, be advised; they've started the bombardment early!" The pilot of the Pave Low evac warned. Valorie grunted. Naturally, the Navy was impatient. She sprinted after Mactavish, taking up the rear. Valorie was a slow runner; all of her strength resided in her upper body from carrying men and women through war torn areas. Still, she was able to keep about one pace behind the entire group, which she didn't think was too bad. A serious artillery shell blew a hole in the roof separating the group of soldiers with the debris that fell from the ceiling. Roach jerked Valorie to a halt as she ran past, full of momentum, and saved her from certain demise.

"'tavish! You alright over there?" Jester called, trying to peer through the rocks. He motioned Mamba and Midnight to the chopper waiting at the end of the tunnel.

"Yeah. Get to the chopper; we'll find another way 'round!" Mactavish turned down a hall, closely followed by Price and Worm. Valorie ran next to Roach, keeping her eyes peeled, ducking as more rubble fell. She slowed as the remaining team came into a cafeteria, and a total dead end. Another boom shook the prison, and Valorie's breath hitched in her throat as a stone slab collapsed on top of Roach, sending him to the ground.

"Roach is down! Roach is down!" Valorie yelled, trying to move the slab. It grated against her gloves, but she was able to push it off Roach and send it tumbling a good distance away. The prisoner, who Valorie remembered as Price, came over to her.

"What can I do?" He watched Valorie pull gauze out of her backpack to clean the blood off of Roach's face. The soldier wasn't severely injured, Valorie noticed with relief; he was just knocked unconscious and obtained a sizable cut along his temple. It didn't require stitches, so the medic just bandaged it thoroughly. She looked up at Price with wearied eyes.

"You can get us the hell outta here," Valorie said, gently slapping Roach's face to try to wake him up. Price turned his attention to Mactavish, who was standing on a pile of rubble next to a whole-but still active- bomb. He had a gun in his hands.

"SOAP! Whatever you're gonna do, do it NOW!" Price helped Valorie heft Roach to his feet as he came too, slinging one of his arms over his shoulders. A flare shot from the tip, and with a great sigh of relief, Valorie saw a SPIE rig shoot down through the hole. Mactavish hooked himself up, then Price, and Valorie helped hook Roach up since he was still fuzzy. Hooking up, she looked at everyone's face before feeling herself being towed through the air.

Then she felt heat. Looking down, the active bomb had blown, and the firestorm was headed straight for the team. Worm was engulfed before Valorie had screamed a warning, and in panic, she realized that she was next. She scrunched her eyes, not wanting to see her legs be burnt off. She felt the heat on the soles of her boots, and she just knew it was over.

Valorie slammed hard into the bottom of the Pave Low, and she gazed disoriented at the worried faces of Soap and Price. Realizing with sudden euphoria that she was still raw meat, she sat up before realizing that they were one person short in the helicopter. Her eyes traveled over the deployed SPIE rig, which was rolling up agonizingly slow. Didn't the operator know that there was another trooper on the line?

The smell came first. It was so peculiar that Valorie had no idea what it was; it was putrid and sweet, but smelled like charcoal and sulfur at the same time. It was that kind of smell that stuck to the inside of one's nostrils and clung to the back of one's throat, leaving a residue that lasted for days. Slowly it dawned on Valorie what it was.

Once, the ventilation systems in the crematorium on Firebase Phoenix hadn't been working properly. Without proper air flow, the smell had just been absolutely horrible, flowing through the entire camp and contaminating everything.

Worm's body was almost indistinguishable. His arms, which he must have raised to cover his face, were melted to his head, blackened beyond belief. All of his hair and fingernails were missing, as well as his clothes which had been totally disintegrated. Mactavish and Price pulled the body in, heads turned away, the smell overwhelming. Roach retched over the helicopter's side. Both captains looked to Valorie to confirm his death. She checked for a pulse, and didn't find any. As she pulled her glove away, some skin followed after her hand, stretching like gum.

"He's gone," Valorie choked. She looked at her glove, not knowing what to do. Mactavish and Price placed the body into a bag and moved it to a small corner in the Pave Low. Although almost barely visible, the smell was still in the air. To get away from it for just a second, Mactavish moved to the cockpit and informed Encounter Base of he casualties.

The ride back to base was silent. Valorie squirmed into a seat next to Roach, patting his back as he threw up into a bucket Price had found for him. He looked up at Valorie through bleary eyes.

"How are you not sick?" He croaked, swiping at his nose. Mactavish returned, dropping into his seat heavily.

"I've got nothing in my stomach and I've dealt with this before," Valorie shrugged, feeling her stomach clench. "Trust, me I want to hurl."

"Nobody says—HUUUUURKKKKAUGH." Roach totally missed the bucket, vomiting all over the floor and Mactavish's boots. The captain's nose scrunched up.

"Ew. Tha's wet."

Everyone let out an uneasy chuckle, mindful of the dead man in the corner. Valorie settled herself against the back of the chopper, tilting her helmet over her eyes. Sleep came quickly, deep and dark, and Valorie felt her head slide down the wall onto Roach's shoulder. Her helmet dug into her scalp and she was sure that it was uncomfortable for Roach as well, but she didn't care anymore. She felt Roach lean forward to puke again Valorie twisted uncomfortably not to fall off her seat.

"How in hell is she asleep?" Price muttered, watching Valorie's head slide down behind Roach's back. The bug set the bucket between his feet and lifted her back up, placing her comfortably on his leg. Subconsciously, Valorie shifted to be more relaxed. Mactavish shook his head.

"Ya swore they knew each other fo' years," Mactavish said. His eyes softened. "We jus' pulled 'er outta the Rangers today. Got inta base, reported ta me, then went righ' to the hospital. 'asn't stopped since."

"With that mentality—" Price stopped as Valorie let out a snapping snore. She clicked her tongue before rolling over. Price shook his head. "With that mentality, she's might have some major problems."

"Yeah. Ghost thinks so. But," Mactavish sighed, readjusting his arms on his thighs. Roach puked again, some splashing over the rim of the bucket and getting on Valorie's braid. She didn't even stir. "She's out in two weeks. Long as she works hard 'ere, she's a welcome addition to the team."

The last two hours of the ride was silent except for Valorie's occasional snores and Roach's dry heaving. Mactavish and Price were wrapped in their own thoughts, busy remembering those who they had lost. The young captain covered his eyes with his hand. Taco had been an amazing sniper, almost on par with Archer and Toad. He was now lying cold and dead in a Russian prison, now totally decimated by US forces. His family would just get a letter saying he was KIA, never to know how or where or why. Just that he died a hero.

At least Worm's family had a body, although not much of one. They probably wouldn't be able to handle the sight of stench—hell, even his own soldier, supposedly the best in the world, was hurling into an almost full bucket. Mactavish wondered how Shepherd would word that letter.

"Encounter Base in sight." The helicopter began its descent, and Roach shook Valorie's shoulder. She jolted, inhaling sharply as she sat forward. She looked around, noticed the body bag in the corner and switched her focus to the base. Jester's Pave Low had landed, and the four men watched with anxious eyes as Six-Four touched down. They all wrinkled their noses at the smell, and when they noticed Worm not among them, none of them, not even Angel, had anything to say. Midnight helped Roach off the helicopter, while Price and Mactavish handed the body bag down to Doc and Chemo.

"Heeeey! Valorie!" The medic looked up from wiping puke out of her braid to see Noah sauntering over to her, all smiles and glee. He came up to the Pave Low, but stopped short and put a hand to his nose. "Phew! Who the hell died in here?"

Valorie froze, and felt her vision flicker. She looked at Noah, a scowl full of contempt on her face, and the captain actually took a step back. He noticed Price looking around a still Mactavish, observing him, before continuing. "What's the look for?"

"You damn well know what it's for, _Lennox_. I know you already have a report on casualties, because Mactavish sent one ahead of our arrival. Get the hell out of my sight, asshole," Valorie snarled, feeling her right hand twitch.

"Who're da 'ell do ya tink yere talkin' ta, Specialist?" Valorie knew his temper had been sparked; his accent was out in full force.

"I think she's talkin' to a negligent captain. Suggest you back down, son," Price crouched next to Valorie in the helicopter.

"And who da 'ell are ya, old man?" Noah sneered, crossing his arms.

"He is a VIP. Back from the brink, I see, Captain Price." Shepherd came to stand next to Noah, who snapped to attention. Shepherd put him at ease, and motioned for Price to follow. "Let's talk."

Price hopped down and walked next to Shepherd, talking strategy. Noah followed behind, not even saying goodbye to Valorie, and she knew this wouldn't he the last time he walked away from her. Fatigued, Valorie slumped down on the edge of the Pave Low and let her feet hang. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her picture, and just held it close.


	7. Eye of the Storm

**Special thanks to VerityA, Emily 'Gadget' Robins and flyingcrispi, whom I apologize to for killing off one of her favorite characters. **

A slowdown, and a look at Valorie and Noah. Enjoy! Next we head to Russia, da?

(I switched this back to T. After reading some other fanfics, I think it's okay.)

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except Valorie 'Ratchet' red and Noah Lennox._

* * *

It was late on the Encounter Base, but for Valorie, staying awake into the early morning hours was just another aspect of her job. Walking through the sterile halls of the base's hospital, she grabbed the patient file outside of Room 12 and walked in, careful to be silent. This was Lovejoy's room, and Valorie was wise not to wake him; after discovering it had been a female medic who had saved him from impending doom, he had developed a case of Nightingale Syndrome. It was a trick of the mind developed by patients who were treated by a practitioner of the opposite sex, usually resulting in unconditional love or obsession. The whole scenario would have been adorable if it wasn't becoming a compulsive disorder; Lovejoy now demanded that only Valorie treat him. She couldn't wait until he recovered. Usually cases of the syndrome disappeared once the patient was out of the hospital.

Stealthily, Valorie checked all of Lovejoy's vitals, working by the light from the EKG and dim glow from the bedside lamp. His lung was healing well; there had been no other major damage, and he was beginning therapy on his hip. After adjusting the drip to a higher level, she exited the room as swiftly as she had came, glad that he did not wake up. She would have been stuck there until she would try to leave, which would result in Lovejoy throwing a fit, and Doc sedating him into sleep when the EKG skyrocketed. Valorie sighed, shaking her head, and replaced the file next to the door. She stretched, popping her back, and shuffled down the hall towards the main desk. Doc was seated there, scribbling on a notepad. Chemo was emerging out of Room 9, and he plopped on the nearest couch to relax. Leaning against the desk, Valorie watched Doc placidly write before undoing her braid, intent on tightening it. Moving to sit on the couch next to Chemo, she began the process of weaving the three strands together in a French braid, nice and tight to her scalp. Chemo watched, fascinated.

"How do girls do that?" He poked the braid as Valorie finished it with her hair tie. It had no bumps, and was totally smooth. She swatted his hand away, mainly because her hair was extremely greasy and she did not want him touching it.

"Practice. My best friend showed me how when I was ten, I think. You should see her do it; starts right at the crown and weaves it impossibly small," Valorie replied. She pulled her feet up, wrapping her arms around them. The two hours of sleep she had obtained on the Pave Low were great, with no nightmares. She felt like she could tackle Makarov bare handed, but Valorie knew as a medic that a few more hours of sleep would do her good.

"Ratch, if you would just run this file down to the morgue and file it, I'll let you go for the night," Doc offered. She looked up at her superior, noticing how tired he looked.

"You sure, Doc? Why don't you take it and leave-" Before she had even finished, he had waved a hand, dismissing the idea. Her superior was stubborn, but Valorie admired that about him. In the time span she had been on the Task Force, Doc had manage to save five different soldiers. Valorie stood, grabbed to folder, and made her way to the morgue.

Morgues, she hated morgues. They smelled of death, no matter how clean and sterile they looked. Taking a deep breath, Valorie opened the swinging door cautiously, knowing how hallowed this ground was. These men in here were heroes, and no matter what, she always gave them the respect they deserved. Treading gently, Valorie followed the file's directions to one lone body bag in the corner. Gulping, Valorie unzipped it. It was Worm, his body charred and mangled beyond identification. That was what Valorie was after; his dog tags would prove that this was her comrade. Slipping on gloves, she probed around before she found them. They had melted slightly because of the heat, and were fused into Worm's charcoal flesh. There was no way Valorie could get them out with her bare hands. Grabbing a scalpel and a clear bag, she cut precisely around the metal, freeing the tags. The chain was nonexistent; since it was such a thin metal, Valorie assumed, it had melted totally into the flesh. The tags were enough, she decided, and slipped them into the bag. The bag went into the file, which went into the little plastic shelf next to the bag. Gazing at her comrade, Valorie's eyes welled up, but she was experienced enough now not to let them fall.

"Thanks, buddy," Valorie whispered, placing her hand above where Worm's heart should have been. All his innards were cooked from the blaze. "You're going home now, I promise. Tell Taco I said hello when you get there."

She zipped the bag and crossed the room quickly, shutting off the light with a quick snap. Valorie pulled off her gloves and threw them into the hazardous material bin, then paused. She knew Worm's death hadn't been her fault; it was the wrong place at the wrong time. The same went for Taco; if he had gone to the middle, it would have been Valorie rotting in a Russian prison. Still, every comrade, every friend that she lost hit home. Valorie had been away from her family for almost four years now. In that time span, she had come to look at every soldier in her unit as a surrogate brother. After all, there was barely a line distinguishing them; just like a family, the troopers joked with one another, fought with one another, protected one another.

Valorie reported back to Doc, who gave her a thumbs up as he continued to scribble on his notepad. Noticing the amassing outpatient folders, she took an armful of them, promising to have them processed by tomorrow afternoon. Doc gave her a look of thanks, and allowed her to return to her tent to get some sleep. Saying goodbye to Chemo, who was in Room 10 playing poker with a patient who couldn't sleep, Valorie left the field hospital. The night was cool, and she didn't mind the walk back to her tent, even though it allowed thoughts about Taco and Worm and the man she couldn't save on Firebase Phoenix to surface and swirl painfully in her head.

Passing the mess hall, she noticed that the lights were still on. Valorie checked her watch; it was close to 0300 hours. Curious as to who would possibly be awake at this hour, she shifted the folders in her hands in order to open the door. Quietly, she peeked inside. There was one soldier sitting at the table, head in hands, feet tapping impatiently. Valorie couldn't tell who it was from the back of his head, but when she spotted the New Orleans key chain hanging out of his pocket, she immediately identified him as Jester. Moving forward, she came to his table, placed the folders on the bench beside her, and took a seat.

Jester didn't look up at first. Valorie waited patiently, knowing he would talk if he had anything to say. On Firebase Phoenix, after she would lose a soldier, she would never talk to anyone. It was unhealthy, but burdening someone else with her own troubles was one trait Valorie hated. After five minutes, Jester still hadn't spoken, and she began to believe he had the same idea as herself.

"He was going home in two days." The statement was so brusque, Valorie thought its rudeness was directed at her. She clamped her mouth shut and just listened. "I'd been Taco's XO ever since he came to this goddamn base. Watched him grow and excel. Now he's dead, and there's not one fucking thing I can say to his family except, 'I'm sorry.'"

Valorie crossed her arms and tucked her chin to her chest, thinking. When she was sure she had something to say that wouldn't upset Jester more, she opened her mouth.

"The way…the way I see it, it was…unavoidable. As soon as I saw him take the rear, I knew it was bad news. But Jester, even though I didn't know Taco that well, he was like a brother." Jester looked at her then, and with a cool gaze, Valorie noticed he had been crying. She kept going. "We become a family here, Jester, and it's never easy to watch a loved one suffer and die. But beating yourself up inside won't bring him back."

He didn't respond, but Valorie knew by how his eyes sparked that she had hit home with her words. She had never been a good motivational speaker, but she supposed that this one had been good enough. She pushed back the nagging voice that told her to stop being a liar, that told her she never forgot who she couldn't save. She knew that her conscience was telling the truth, but deceiving herself was the only way to get over the pain of failure. She opened an outpatient file and began working on it, trying to quell the nagging voice in her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Jester's face relaxed slowly, wrinkle by wrinkle, as he mulled over Valorie's words. Heaving a heavy sigh, He got up and made two instant coffees for himself and Valorie before sitting back down. Thanking him, the medic sipped the drink carefully, scribbling necessary information on the charts.

"So, what exactly got you to be an Army medic of all things?" Jester pointed to a line that Valorie forgot to fill out as he made conversation. She initialed it and flipped the page. She didn't want to answer this question, but Jester persisted, and Valorie knew that he could just look at her file anyway.

"I always wanted to be a nurse, you know? Help people, all that awesome stuff. I started volunteering at my veteran's hospital when I was twelve, and I think that's what spawned the need to help our troops. My mother was against it, you know? I was her baby girl, going out onto the battlefield. My dad, he didn't give a shit. Told me to give them hell as the sent me off to basic training. I don't think my mother ever forgave me; she passed away two years ago, when I was with the Rangers in Iraq. My dad told me via e-mail and told me to come home if I needed to. I didn't; we had just had a massive raid on base, and there were so many casualties." Valorie paused, before laughing bitterly. "What a bitch, right? Didn't even go home for my mother's funeral. I can't help but think the constant worrying over my profession caused an advancement to her death. I haven't gotten a leave nor taken one to go see her grave yet."

Not knowing what to say, Jester remained silent, watching Valorie efficiently fill out forms. He felt horrible, knowing he just reopened old wounds. "So, you haven't been home in four years?"

"Nope." Valorie crossed one of her t's especially hard. "Can we stop talking about this?"

"Uh, sure. So...what's you favorite color?" Jester failed. Valorie looked up at him.

"That was lame," she chuckled. Glad to get away from the other topic, she answered him happily. "Royal purple. And you?"

"Blue." Through the rest of the early morning hours, Valorie and Jester threw questions back and forth, attempting to forget about the ones they had lost. It worked; by 0500 hours, Jester was laughing boisterously in the empty cafeteria at Valorie's favorite food. Laughing to herself, Valorie finished the last bit of her paperwork and stood up. Jester caught the motion and watched her.

"Where are you going?" He asked. In his voice, Valorie could detect some fear, and she knew what it was; the fear of being alone.

"I'm going to give these to Doc. You, my friend, need sleep. Medic's orders. Come on, I'll walk you to your tent." Jester stood next to her, and he led the way to his tent. The pair were careful not to be too loud, knowing that most Task Force members were still asleep. Jester stopped at a tent close to the landing field, and waved to Valorie as he went in. She nodded to him, and within five minutes, extreme snores were heard form the tent. Boy, did she feel bad for whoever was Jester's bunk mate.

Shuffling the papers in her arms, Valorie turned back to walk to the hospital. As she came to the intersection, she looked to her right as she heard heavy footsteps. Ghost's masked face popped into her vision from the gloom of the early morning, and Valorie jumped so bad that most of her papers went flying. The higher up chuckled, slowing down from his run to help her pick up her scattered papers.

"Specialist," Ghost addressed her coolly. He handed her a patient folder. She glared up at him while arranging papers that had gotten out of order. A snide comment was bubbling in the pit of her stomach. "What're you doin' up so early?"

"Doc put me on the late shift at the hospital, sir. He let me go to sleep, but I found Jester upset about Taco, so I sat with him. Finished up outpatient documents too, so that should let Chemo and Doc have a breather. I was just heading back."

"Taco was a good soldier. He'll be hard to replace." His voice was quiet when he responded. Not seeing the need to answer, she collected the remaining folders out of Ghost's hands and stood, thanking him. Brushing dirt off his pants, her lieutenant stood, and Valorie was sure he was looking at her. "Despite the hesitation at first, good job on the Gulag."

Figuring that that was the best praise she was ever going to get, she thanked him and watched him return to his run. She entered the hospital, dropped the folders off, and told Doc to go get some rest. He complied, leaving Chemo in charge, and meandered to the back of the hospital. Valorie supposed there was a room set up for him.

Yawning, she supposed another hour of sleep could do her good. Valorie shuffled to her tent and collapsed face first onto her cot. Her hand brushed over her vest, and she deftly reached for her picture. However, her hand hit something cold and round, and with a jolt, Valorie realized that it was Taco's rosary. Gingerly, she pulled the beads out, watching as the rising sun caught the shiny plastic. Holding it up, she watched the little crucifix dangle and spin, and her thoughts went not to Taco, but to her Rangers. How were they? How were Private Iris and Private Spring? Did Dunn see her text massage yet?

With all these new thoughts, Valorie knew sleep would never come. She stashed the rosary back in her pocket, and rolled off of her stomach and onto her feet. She snatched her SIM card from the very bottom of her pocket, and exited her tent. Pausing, she thought about where to go before deciding to see if Captain Mactavish was awake. Perhaps he had a cell phone she could use. She began to move that way, and she spotted Ghost still running around the perimeter of the base.

The administrative building was quiet, and Valorie made her way to Captain Mactavish's office, listening to her tapping footsteps. She came to the door and raised her hand to knock, but an explosive outburst of an angry voice from inside made her halt. She listened, but because of the thickness of the door, not much except infuriated voices. Valorie shifted on her feet, not sure if she should knock or just leave. As the voices got louder, she decided leaving was the best plan.

"What're ya doin' just standin' outside, Ratchet?" Valorie turned to see Captain Price coming at her, a mug of coffee in his hand. She sighed; it would figure all the commanders woke up before 0600.

"Well, ah… I was going to see if Captain Mactavish had a cell phone I could use, since Taco, uh, never mind." Valorie halted that thought before it started, but Price seemed to know what she meant. "But the captain seems busy, so I'll just go."

"Nah, no worries. Here, I was just goin' in myself." Price easily swung the door opened, and she peeked around him to see Noah, red faced, and an equally irked Mactavish. The two captains stopped when Price and Valorie walked in. Despite the glare Noah was sending his way, Price acted as if he had just entered a casual party. "Sorry to bother ya, but Ratchet was lookin' to borrow a cell phone."

"Why?" Noah's question was sharp and demanding, and he spun on Valorie so quick that she took a step back. Quickly she regained her composure, and cleared her throat.

"Sir, I was hoping to make a personal call…," she tried, but Noah would have nothing of it. His face became steadily redder as he pounced on Valorie, ready to verbally rip her apart. Mactavish began to stand from behind his desk.

"To whom, soldier? Those Rangers? They're probably all rotting carcasses by now!" Noah laughed, and Valorie felt her mouth hand open. Who was this person? This wasn't Noah; the Noah she knew and grew up with would have handed her his own cell phone, not mocked her and thrown her simple request in her face. Valorie closed her mouth, shoved past Noah, and looked at Mactavish. The vein was popping in his forehead.

"Sir," Valorie stressed. "May I please borrow your cell phone?"

Not looking at her, Mactavish handed her a simple device, but it would do the job. Valorie saluted, turned, and headed towards the door. Moving to block her, Noah crossed his arms in front of the door.

"You don't believe me, Val?" He tried, trying to put a face on that Valorie figured was supposed to be cute, but she was done with him. Nothing could retract the words he just said to her.

"Get the 'ell outta my way, asshole," Valorie snarled. She let her accent permeate her speech, showing she was serious.

"Captain Lennox, I won' be held responsible if she clocks ya one," Mactavish said, moving around his desk. Price looked on from the corner.

"As if she would hit-" Slinging her fist back, Valorie slugged Noah in the eye, effectively making him stagger back. He looked at her, shocked, as he held a hand to his eye.

"Ya didn't tink I would hit cha?" She snarled. She shoved him into the wall, stepping over the threshold of the door. "I have no problem wid hittin' someone I dunno."

"You think you can just hit a superior officer and-" Noah started towards her, but Mactavish stopped him.

"It was deserved. You didn't look like ya were movin' anytime soon, Noah," Mactavish growled in warning. He dismissed Valorie, and she strode out of the office, head held high. What she said back in that office was true, and it was the last time she would regard Noah as a friend.

Mactavish watched Ratchet leave before turning to Noah and ordering him out of his office. The captain gathered up the rest of his pride and scrambled out of the door, past Ghost who had an assignment folder in his hands. The lieutenant watched Noah move swiftly down the hall before handing the folder over to Mactavish. His eyes scanned the contents before sighing.

"We're going to Russia."


	8. Code Black

**I freaking hated this level. It's a #$% to write. T.T**

_Special thanks, as always, to VerityA, 7red-charms, John Sasaki, panpanpeppermint, ChickGamerNicole, Emily 'Gadget' Robins, whoever is frittlecakes, and flyingcrispi._

So, two chapters from Loose Ends? Wow, time flew. D: Time to decide if I'm killing Roach and Ghost.

Disclaimer: I own nothing/no one except Specialist Valorie 'Ratchet' Red and Captain Noah Lennox.

* * *

Roach froze, and it wasn't because of the cold. Following Price's example, he came to a halt behind a frosted pine tree, holding his breath. A patrol of Russian jeeps passed his position, headlights scanning the area for any signs of intruders. Holding his breath, the youngest member of the 141 watched them leave through his goggles, making sure they were far enough away before moving again. Price moved from his position behind a leafy shrub to take point, going prone on the top of a small hill and bringing the rifle scope to his eye. Roach followed his lead.

"Two of 'em have stopped for a smoke. Take one an' I'll get the other," Price murmured, finger twitching on the trigger. Swinging the scope of his silenced M14 EBR up to his eye, Roach held his breath, feeling the air expand to his lungs and press against his rib cage. A quick pull on the trigger and the left soldier was eliminated. Price took out the other seconds later.

"Beautiful. Move up, Ratchet," Price called through his throat mic. Shaking snow that had settled on her helmet, Valorie pushed herself up from her hidden position and regrouped quickly with both of her team members. It had become apparent immediately that Valorie was not strong at stealth. She had carefully been following behind Roach and Price, keeping her eyes wide open for any hostiles. So focused on her task, Valorie hadn't noticed that her team had stopped until Roach had grabbed her ankle and sent her tumbling next to him. It was a smart save; a second longer and two Russian guards would have spotted the medic. Price had reprimanded her for that.

Seeing Price hold up a closed fist to her, Valorie moved off the main road and crouched behind a tree, listening to the faint chattering of the Russians. Soon it ceased into a gurgle, and Valorie heard a dog yelp painfully before Price moved her up again. She felt like a chess piece, a king who mustn't be captured at all costs. Leaving the cover of her tree, Valorie took up a position behind the two men, turning her head away as they passed the Russian bodies.

Price and Roach didn't need to hide to take out the men guarding the bridge, since they were not paying attention. The trio moved onto the bridge, and Valorie couldn't help but think that this mission was too easy. Usually by now, she would have had a few close calls with a speeding bullet dangerously close to her heart.

The roaring of helicopter blades drew Valorie's attention upward, and her eyes widened as she recognized the bulky exterior of SAMs being transported by helicopter. Price cursed, his hand flying to his external radio.

"Soap, our intel was off. The Russians have mobile SAMs," Price relayed, watching the helicopters pass overhead in disdain. Taking advantage of the break, Valorie unhooked her goggles from her helmet and spit in then, rubbing the saliva around the plastic lens. This would keep the condensation from her nose and mouth from fogging up her vision. It was an old trick a friend had taught her when they went skiing. Now, stranded in Russia, that life seemed eons away, unreachable.

"Have you found us some transport?" Price motioned Roach and Valorie forward, keeping one eye on the sky as helicopters passed. Catching up with Roach, she gave him a half-hearted smile, which he returned with a thumbs up. He was trying to encourage her, to assure her that the punch to Noah's face was justified. Everyone on Encounter Base had heard about the standoff between Valorie and Noah; the captain even had a black eye to prove it. Some agreed, after hearing the story, that the punch was deserved; others, like Angel, wanted to see consequences. But Shepherd had been silent on the whole issue, and Mactavish and Price were on her side, so Roach truly wondered if any action would be taken against her at all.

Then there was her worry for her Rangers. Before boarding the Pave Low for Petropavlovsk, Roach had seen Valorie on a cell phone, during the regulated hours. Her expression had been new to Roach; he had seen her face contort into expressions of confusion, disgust and nervousness before, but never one of pure fear. She had been biting her nails, turning them into nubs, while she listened to whoever she had called. The call was short and bittersweet, Roach decided, because Valorie pulled the phone and looked at it, eyes welling up in tears. Roach had figured whoever had been on the other line hung up. She began to pace, snapping her fingers together as she developed a footpath in the dirt. When Roach had questioned her about the phone call a few minutes later, Valorie had explained to him, while trying to blink away tears, that her Ranger regiment was attacking Russian invaders in D.C. That was her friend, she had told him, giving her a quick call to let her know not to worry.

Biting her lip, Valorie followed Price in a daze. Her mind was with her Rangers, a distraction that she knew could cost her life. The conversation between her and her squad mate had been too short. She thought back to what his departing words were and snorted in disbelief. How could she _not_ worry, Dunn? Her regiment, the men who accepted her, depended on her and protected her, were facing a foe numbering in the millions, and she was not there to help them. Why couldn't the Russians have waited ten more days? In ten days, she was out of the 141, back with her brothers, saving more lives instead of loosing them. How were Privates Iris and Spring? Even though they pretended to be tough, Valorie knew they didn't like blood that much. They had been her rock, her anchor to sanity when the realization of death crashed down on her. And what about Foley? He captain had always warned her to keep her head down; would he approve of her doing these kinds of missions? Would he have let her go to the 141 if he knew what it entailed? Would he care if she-

A roaring engine ripped Valorie from her thoughts, and she turned her head quickly to see a Russian BTR barreling down the road, firing shells right at the squad. Price dashed towards the trees, and Roach and Valorie followed right behind him, the booming of artillery loud in her ears. He was a faster runner than she was; soon, Roach pulled in front of Valorie, keeping up with Price. She was about two strides behind them, ducking as a pine tree splintered and rained needles down on her. The path was becoming more narrow, and Valorie knew the BTR would soon not be able to follow.

A round exploded the tree ahead of Roach, and it splintered at its base, groaning and wobbling. He sped past it, and he turned around to warn Valorie, but it was too late; the tree had fallen halfway through the air already and Valorie was right under it. Her eyes widened right before her face became obscured by needles, boots sticking out from the mass of leaves. Roach screeched to a halt, prepared to help his teammate.

She couldn't dodge the tree as it fell, and there was no way around it. The tree slammed into Valorie, knocking the air out of her lungs as it planted her into the ground. Her head spun with stars as it connected with the ground, vision flickering, but the helmet she was wearing absorbed most of the impact. The pain in her ribs began spreading, and Valorie knew immediately that if they weren't broken, then they were certainly bruised. It hurt to breathe with the weight of the tree pressing on her, but Valorie rationed that if she could just get her right arm out from underneath the tree, she could push it off of herself. It wasn't totally flat on the ground; the splintered base still rested on the stump of the tree, angling the medium sized trunk to the ground. She wiggled, she twisted, she pulled, but no matter how much coaxing she gave her arm, it would not come free of the branches and trunk. The Russians were still pelting the forest with artillery, and Valorie tried in vain to lift the tree with one hand. She only succeeded in staining her shoulder and exerting her neck. She slammed her fist into the rough wood. If only she had her other arm, she could sidle right out from underneath the tree!

"Ratchet! RATCHET!" She heard Roach scream for her through her mic, and after a quick glance down to her side to make sure her radio wasn't crushed, Valorie responded.

"Wha' the hell happened?" Mactavish's voice barked from the external radio, anxiety permeating every word.

"Ratchet is down!" Roach relayed, beginning to run back to the medic. Price followed him quickly.

"R-roach, I'm fine!" She struggled out, trying to wiggle her arms. She sucked in a painful breath as she moved the wrong way and her ribs gave her a jolt of pain. "You and Price get out of here until the bombing is done!"

"But-" Price grabbed Roach's collar, fixing him with a stern look before shoving him in front, pushing him to run deeper into the forest where the shells couldn't reach them. Soon, the BTR couldn't follow them, and the two were able to stop running. Roach spun immediately in Valorie's direction.

"Coming to get you, Ratchet," Price called to her through his mic, retracing his footsteps.

"Negative; hold your position and hide," Valorie whispered quietly through her mic. There were voices and footsteps coming from behind her, and they did not sound friendly. "I've got hostiles behind me."

"Ratchet-" Roach tried again, but Price fixed him with a look.

"Give us an all clear, an' we'll come get you," Price murmured. Valorie didn't reply, instead intent on using the thick foliage of the tree to hide herself. She was able to tuck her legs into the needles, folding them into the branches despite protest from her ribs. Her right arm and shoulder were already hidden by the needles, and she grabbed her braid and wound it around her neck, stuffing the end into her mouth so it wouldn't fall back into the snow. Her left arm she pushed deep into the pine trees, but her shoulder still stuck out and was visible. She hoped they would think it was a rock, or a low growing shrub. She tucked her face into her right shoulder and let the pine needles sweep over her. She knew she was still visible through some holes in the branches, but Valorie hoped her Arctic camouflage would do its job.

Heavy footsteps crunched the snow behind her, and Valorie's heart jumped into her throat. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the squad came so close to her tree, peering into the forest after Roach and Price, but the two had taken Valorie's warning and hidden well. Angry chatter spewed out of a soldier's mouth, and he came so close to Valorie's exposed shoulder that she knew he was going to find her. But no, he didn't crouch down, nor did her look closely at the fallen tree. He swore, Valorie guessed-it sounded angry- and he gave a swift kick to Valorie's shoulder and stalked away. Valorie was grateful for her braid; it muffled out her cries of pain as tears began to roll down her face. The Russian did think her shoulder was a rock, and took his anger out on it. That was going to be an ugly bruise.

The footsteps faded away, and Valorie spit her braid out of her mouth, gasping as she did so. She swiped her wet cheeks on her shoulders and fumbled her left hand to her radio. "All c-clear, Captain."

"Standby." Price motioned Roach forward, and the youngest member of the 141 darted back down towards the tree. He squatted down, taking the trunk of the tree in his arms and tried to lift. She tried to give him a hand, trying to push with her left. It moved slightly, but not enough for Valorie to scoot out from under. Price caught up to Roach, and together, on three, they lifted it enough off of her so that she was able to pull out from under it. She slid an arm around her stomach as she stood up, face scrunched in pain.

"Ya gonna be alrigh', Ratch?" Price helped her over the tree, and she nodded, hopping to the snow painfully. As she did so, she heard her backpack jingle, and Valorie groaned. She set it on the ground and unzipped it, and paled when she noticed all her syringes of morphine were shattered due to the impact.

"Hope you boys can handle pain," Valorie said, positioned her backpack so it wasn't pressing so hard on her bruising shoulder. Now with their medic, the squad moved forward, Price and Roach taking out Russians under a pipeline. They up a hill that looked over a tiny village.

"This ridge is perfect," Price commented. He went prone and motioned for the other two to do the same. "Roach, take control of the Predator."

Fishing the laptop out of his backpack, Roach flipped it up and aimed quickly, firing off a single shot before a SAM ignited in the village, taking out the drone before more AGMs could be fired from it. It hit the SAM sight, however, but at the price of losing their own Predator. Price cursed, and Valorie groaned. She was right; it was never that easy.

"Wha' happened?" Mactavish was quick to respond to the cursing, his voice cutting through a very nasty one Price was about to spew.

"There's a mobile SAM sight in the village. Gonna need another Predator," Price grumbled. He looked at Valorie and Roach. "Let's go. They know we're 'ere."

The three slid down a snowy slope, and Valorie whimpered as her ribs creaked in violent protest. She was certain they were not broken, just bruised, but it was still painful. It didn't help that her shoulder was throbbing in time with her heartbeat, drumming pain into her nerves. Valorie came to rest at the bottom of the hill, standing and making her way over to an ammo crate that was abandoned by the Russians. Shots broke out and she darted to cover behind a cottage, bullets pinging off the wood and sending chips everywhere. Valorie fired at a Russian, hitting his leg, then his abdomen. She didn't fire a second shot, even though he was still moving.

"Check your fire, check your fire! Friendlies comin' in at your twelve!" Ghost and his squad of Mamba and a soldier code named Ozone darted into the fray, returning fire viciously. The team of six fought through the village, Valorie firing only when necessary. Roach and Mamba stayed close to her, and she was comforted by the fact. Valorie eliminated a Russian hiding behind a stone wall, stomach uneasy, and followed her team through the grove of trees. Behind it, the Russian base was unaware. A single helicopter patrolled lazily.

"There's the submarine, below tha' crane," Price said, scanning the area. "Roach, soften up their defenses with the Predator. Ratchet, you're with Ghost."

Roach let the AGM fly, fly right into the patrolling helicopter. The whole base began to sound a warning, Russian soldiers piling out from every direction. Valorie jumped down from the ledge and took cover next to Ghost, peering around the corner and taking out a Russian who was doing the same. Another Predator slammed into the ground, eliminating the infantry and allowing the ground squad to proceed. Valorie advanced behind a metal storage crate, aiming at a lone Russian coming at her from the road. She fired, hitting his leg and he went down, crawling off to the side. She checked behind her to make sure Ghost hadn't seen, and was satisfied that he didn't.

A BTR swerved down the road, and Valorie didn't even blink before another AGM slammed into it, taking it and the enemies around it to the grave.

"Moving up to your position," Roach called over the radio, jumping down from the ledge and sprinting. Valorie affirmed it, covering him as he advanced. There were no problems, however; all the opposing force behind them had been eliminated. Roach caught up to the squad right when Valorie saw Price sprint towards the crane.

"I'm goin' for the sub! Cover me from that guardhouse!" He instructed, turning a corner and disappearing.

"Roger that! Let's go, we need to get to the guardhouse!" Ghost led them up a fire escape to one of the buildings, up to the roof which held a weapons cache. Mamba handed Valorie an RPG.

"You ever use one of these?" He shouted over the sirens. Valorie's eyes widened and she shook her head quickly. Despite this, Mamba shoved it into her arms. "Aim at the truck coming in from the north, by the sub!"

Valorie wanted to ask Mamba to get someone else, but she realized that everyone else was busy; Ghost was shouting orders and sniping, Ozone was handling another RPG, Mamba was planting C4 around the stairwell, and Roach was on the Predator. Gulping, Valorie took a knee by the railing and placed the barrel of the weapon on her shoulder. She squeezed the trigger gently and the effect was almost instantaneous. The recoil sent Valorie tumbling onto her butt, and the RPG found its mark, eliminating the enemy vehicle. Mamba gave a whoop of praise, hoisting her back onto her feet and slapping her on the back.

A grating sound from the submarine caught Valorie's attention. The silo doors were opening, and her stomach dropped to the bottom of her boots. Didn't that mean a missile launch was evident?

"Price, are you there?" Ghost radioed frantically, watching the submarine. "The silo doors are opening on the sub, I repeat, the silo doors are opening on the sub! Price, come in! They're opening the silo doors on the sub! Hurry! Price, come in! The silo doors are open, I repeat, the silo doors are open!"

Silence met Ghost's words, before Price took the liberty to reply.

"Good."

"Wait, wait, Price, NO!" Ghost screamed, hand flying to his headset. There was no reply from Price. Ghost cursed and switched back to the main line. "We have a nuclear missile launch! Missile in the air! Missile in the air! Code Black, CODE BLACK!"

Panic filled Valorie as the nuclear missile launched. Everyone, including the opposing forces, stopped to watch it ascend into the atmosphere. It would have been an awesome experience under different circumstances, Valorie thought. No one knew what to do, or what to say. But everyone was wondering what had just happened.

"PRICE! Get back here, now!" Ghost was livid, and Valorie hastily made her way over to Mamba, away from the danger zone. The two shared a look, knowing that the XO was about to explode. When there was no response, Ghost snarled and stalked down the stairwell, headed towards the submarine. Valorie saw the form of Price exit the submarine's doors, seemingly unharmed.

"...Do we follow?" Roach asked, watching his XO.

"Check for hostiles on the Predator screen," Ozone suggested. When Roach reported there were none, everyone looked at each other before heaving a collective sigh and descending from the stairs. Even though Ghost's temper was a legend that even Valorie, as new as she was, knew about, none of them wanted to experience it firsthand. There was a rumor that Ghost had taken out a Mexican drug lord by himself as an act of pure revenge.

"Captain Mactavish," Valorie tried, putting her hand to her earpiece.

"Copy, Ratchet. Wha's wrong?" Mactavish sounded calm, despite the fact that a nuclear missile had just been launched. Valorie took note of it.

"What are our orders, sir?" Mamba butted into the frequency, taking the lead. Valorie puffed out her cheeks in annoyance, but remained silent.

"Prevent Ghost from killin' Price," Mactavish suggested. Mamba sighed and motioned the group to follow him.

Curiosity was eating at Valorie. Before she could stop herself, the question wormed its way out of her mouth. "Did you know about the missile, Captain?"

Silence, and everyone held their breath, hoping the answer was no.

"...Yeah."

"Where is the missile headed, Captain?" Valorie closed her eyes, not liking where this was going. Her heart rate began to quicken and her hands began to shake, as she thought, _Oh God, please don't let it be- _

"Washington D.C."


	9. Missing Pieces

**Short chapter, again. It covers two levels, though, and helps to set Valorie up for the remaining chapters. **

_Special thanks, as always, to VerityA, flyingcrispi, John Sasaki, Kap, WasabiMuffin, Averia, and Spider._

Disclaimer: I own nothing/no one besides Specialist Valorie 'ratchet' red and Captain Noah Lennox.

* * *

Corporal Dunn grit his teeth in pain as Foley dragged him backwards behind the wall and into safety. Applying pressure to his arm, he winced as blood began to seep through his fingers. He would live, though; Dunn slid his eyes over to Pvt. Wade's body, lying in a pool of blood oozing from the back of his head. His eyes were glossy and wide open, staring but not seeing. Dunn wished he could close them. He diverted his gaze from his fallen brother, apologizing mentally.

A burst of fire from inside the wrecked chopper drew Dunn's attention, reminding him that Pvt. Ramirez was stuck, but alive, in the twisted metal. Pvt. Iris hefted his M4A1 up onto the wall and fired using one hand, since his left arm was mangled and bloodied. His face was scrunched up with concentration and pain, but the young soldier still managed to lay down suppressing fire. Pvt. Spring was trying to pull the burning metal off of Pvt. Sandler's legs to free his comrade while he provided cover fire. Pvt. McCord was wiping blood out of his eyes from a gash on his forehead before returning fire, doing what damage he could with only two magazines left.

"Ramirez! Last mag, make it count!" Foley threw the trapped soldier the squad's final defense, and Dunn felt despair begin to fester in the pit of his stomach. He never thought he'd die like this. He always thought a quick bullet to the chest or to the head would do him in, not by being taken captive by enemy troops. Dunn rubbed at his nose, trying to get the dirt out of it. It was aggravating him, and his anger began to mount, rising through his body. He would be damned if he went without a fight. Clipping his rifle onto his belt, he checked to make sure his assault knife was ready to be used. With hardened eyes, he met the gazes of his surviving squad members. Through all the grime, sweat and blood, Dunn saw the bravest men, true heroes that knew the meaning of pain, loss and sacrifice. They followed his lead, checking their knives and cracking knuckles, preparing for the end.

Then the sun rose. In one short burst, it lit up the sky, blinding Dunn and his squad. It faded after a few seconds, and everyone was left wonder what happened on both sides. The back and forth firing stopped, and Sandler took the opportunity to get Ramirez out of the helicopter's remains. Dunn's heartbeat sped up. That wasn't the sun, that had been a—

"HOLY SHIT!" Not two feet from the Ranger's last stand, a Little Bird crashed to the street, followed by another. Dunn shot to his feet, following Foley and yelling for the others to follow him. A Pave Low crashed to his left, blowing up an SUV that had been parked, and a body fell from the sky onto the pavement, splattering on impact.

"What the hell is going on?" Spring screamed, dodging what appeared to be a piece of engine from a Boeing 747. He redoubled his sprinting efforts, catching back up to the main crowd.

"EMP!" Dunn dove into an empty bookstore, followed by Foley and Ramirez. Sandler held the door open for the remaining men.

Spring skidded to a stop as he heard Iris yelp, turning to see his best friend sprawled on the ground. Wasting no time, Spring began hoisting him to his feet, but the crunching and grinding of metal drew his attention. A hulking Apache helicopter spiraled to the ground, blades spinning, and cleanly cut through Spring's abdomen, slicing him in half and cutting through Iris's arm, dismembering it from his shoulder. Iris went slack jawed, watching as the one half of his best friend flew through the air, carrying the momentum of the blades, and the other twitching as innards and blood spewed out. He gripped desperately at his lost arm, the pain beginning to come back to him as he gazed at the quivering halves.

"Shit, Iris! Get your ass in here!" McCord called, motioning frantically to his comrade. Struggling to his feet, Iris looked at his best friend before moving towards the bookstore, one hand covering his stump. He was too slow; a passenger plane slammed onto the street, crushing and dragging Iris down the asphalt, leaving nothing except a blood trail for the rest of the Rangers to see.

"Oh my God…" McCord backed away from the window, hands up in a defensive position. Ramirez paled, turning quickly to refill his ammo. Dunn's hands shot to his helmet, pressing down on it as he attempted to control his panic.

"What the hell are we gonna do now, man? Russians have us outnumbered, shit's falling from the sky, we're screwed, man! We're totally-"

"Corporal!" Foley snapped, aggravated. His panic was setting everyone on edge, making everyone remember that there were two missing from their squad. The time for remembrance was later. "Shut up and get a grip. Our weapons still work, which means we can still kick some ass."

It fell silent. Dunn met Foley's eyes and the sergeant nodded at him, placing his hand on the doorknob. He fixed Dunn with a steady stare. "Stay here."

"You goin' out there? Are you nuts?" Dunn tried to grab his commander's arm, but he was already out the door, sweeping his rifle around, looking for enemies. It amazed the Corporal that he could stay so calm.

"It's over," Foley decided. "Come on, we still have a war to fight."

The streets of Washington were ruined, showing the devastating effects of the EMP. Bodies were strewn everywhere; on top of cars, splattered on the streets, and hanging from buildings. Pave Lows, Apaches and Little Birds littered the street like forgotten toys, metal popping from extreme heat. Fires were burning everywhere, collapsing severely damaged buildings that just couldn't support their own weight anymore. All the smog from the fires and wreckage swirled into the atmosphere, blocking the sun.

"Oh man, it's quiet." Dunn followed Foley outside, and the remainder of his squad fanned out behind him. He began to scan through his scope, but realized it was more difficult. "Hey, is your red dot working? Mine's out."

"Mine's down too," Ramirez replied, looking into a gutted house. "This is weird bro."

"Looks like optics are down…comms too. And not a streetlight for blocks," Foley muttered, motioning his squad forward. He flipped over the body of a Ranger and cursed as glossy eyes stared back at him. The squad passed in reverence as they continued, moving towards a large building on their left.

Movement caught Dunn's eye and he dropped to his knee, gun poised. Foley halted the rest of the squad with a raised fist before taking cover behind the skeleton of a car. He nodded to Dunn.

"Star!" Dunn yelled, popping out from behind cover. "Star or we will shoot!"

"I don't know the countersign, dammit!" A young Ranger jogged up to them, hands outstretched. "I'm just a runner, don't shoot!"

It was relieving to know that the small band of Rangers was not the only one still alive in this wasteland. Foley breathed out deeply, moving out from behind cover and motioning his squad to do the same. He smiled crookedly at the young private, trying to give reassurance he himself was having a hard time feeling. "The correct response is 'Texas', soldier. What'd ya got?"

"Colonel Marshall's assembling a task force at Whiskey Hotel. You guys gotta keep heading north," the private panted, hands on his knees as he regained his breath. He took two gulps of air before standing and running off again.

"So where you goin' then?" Dunn called, watching the young man jog off into hostile territory. He would be safer with them if he stayed.

"To tell everyone else! Get to Whiskey Hotel!" Turning the corner the private disappeared leaving his words to hang in the air. Dunn shifted on his feet, glancing around at Ramirez, whose face was calm and calculating. Dunn wondered if the guy ever showed panic.

"Alright, you heard the man. Let's go."

They small squadron moved into the office building, moving quickly and efficiently. Every room they entered was crowded with filthy, confused Russians, and each room was cleared by frightened, determined Americans. Power was down everywhere, and the Rangers fired by the light of fizzling wires and sparking light bulbs. Anything that moved in their path resembling a human was shot, and Dunn was sure he shot at several shadows just to be safe. Quickly they moved into the monsoon, smoking Russians in top of a tank and leaving the ones inside to fate.

Dunn sighed in relief as the Eisenhower Building came into view, and shook out his wet countenance as he entered inside. He sighed, rubbing his eyes as he thought about all the Rangers he had checked for vitals on the street. All were dead. He shook off the thoughts for now, refilling his ammo and following Ramirez into the basement of the building, feet sloshing in his wet boots.

The back up power was working in the basement, and the sight before Dunn's eyes made him give a low whistle of disbelief. The heavy metal door creaked open and Foley motioned everyone forward, past spraying pipes and a dripping ceiling. A Ranger shouted at them to hustle up, motioning them forward with his hand. Dunn saw the ground rise, and he readied for the worst, preparing himself for hell.

And hell it was. The White House was missing pieces of it, and was completely overrun. Spotlights shone from the rooftops, machine gun fire spraying the dirt and mowing down Rangers who weren't quick enough to find cover. Foley yelled for his remaining Rangers to take cover, and Dunn dove to the ground, clutching his rifle to his chest as Foley exchanged orders with Colonel Marshall.

The gunshots were so, so loud in his ears, and Dunn scrunched his eyes together when he felt them begin to get wet. Dunn began to shake, swiping at his nose and eyes, but it didn't stop. With a jolt, Dunn realized for the first time during this four hour conflict that he was scared. He wondered if he'd get home to see his mother, his father, his sister. She'd just given birth to her first daughter, a niece that Dunn had yet to meet. He didn't want to die here, on this God-forsaken piece of earth, under a muddy sky and deadly bullets.

Ramirez crouched down and prepared to dash and follow Foley when he noticed Dunn wasn't with the group. Ramirez's heart gave a stutter; he was particularly fond of the corporal, despite his loud mouth, and he scanned the ground quickly to see if he had been wounded or worse. He spotted him, face down in the dirt, and ducked under the barrage of bullets to grab him by the shoulder to see if he was still breathing. The corporal looked up at him, rubbed at his eyes, but Ramirez still saw the tear tracts. Instead of mentioning them, the private simply offered him his hand, and with renewed resolved, Dunn grabbed it, hoisted himself onto his feet, and dove back into the fighting.

Advancing through the hazy dusk, the small squad quickly infiltrated the White House, establishing a stronghold in the Oval Office. Dunn blinked as gurgled speech came from what sounded like a radio, and he followed his ears to the noise. Hefting a painting off its supports, he listed to the full message from Tojo Five-One before feeling panic set in once again.

"Sarge!" Dunn's voice cracked on the last syllable. "Are you reading this?"

"That's why we gotta go! Now get the door!" He yelled at Dunn, ready to smack the kid upside the head if he didn't stop panicking. Dunn obeyed, shooting the doorknob and dashing behind cover, which was a metal file cabinet. They proceeded, straight through the Press Briefing Room and Press Corps Offices, only cease firing to reload and take cover. If Dunn wasn't so concerned about not dying in a bombing raid, he would have thought the up close tour of the White House was fantastic.

The timer was now down to one minute. Dunn scrambled up a pile of rubble frantically, onto what he recalled as being the State Floor. Hastily he put a lead finger on the trigger, mowing down enemies. It was a life or death situation right now, and there was no way he would be the one dying today. Tojo Five-One barked out the timer had reached thirty seconds, and Dunn picked Sandler off the floor and shoved him to the stairwell, hastily running to the roof. Ahead of him, Dunn saw Ramirez and McCord rip flares out of their vests, frantically popping them and waving off the Air Force.

For once, Dunn had beaten time. The two pilots aborted the bombing, and all the Rangers breathed out a sigh of relief as one body. McCord threw his flare on the ground, looking out with Ramirez over the war torn city as more green spots began to appear. Sandler moved forward, shaking his head.

"So when are we goin' to Moscow?" He asked. The fires burning throughout the White House cast a flickering shadow over his face. Dunn shook his head, sitting down on a slab of rubble.

"Not soon enough, man. But I know we're gonna burn it down when we get there."

Foley shook his head, trying to get in contact with Colonel Marshall. It didn't work; the EMP effects were still messing with electronics. Dunn cursed as he smacked his cell phone against his palm, trying to get it to turn on. Foley cleared his throat and Dunn looked up at him, aggravated.

"Sonuvabitch won't turn on," he grumbled, shoving it hazardously into his pocket. "I wanted to call my folks, and..."

All the Rangers glanced at one another, knowing who else Dunn had to call. Specialist Red would be devastated when she found out what happened to Iris and Spring. Ramirez let his gaze droop to the ground. Those two had been like brothers to him, closer than his actual biological brothers. To go in such a way that both of them did... how were they supposed to tell the Specialist? Especially when she was so excited to come back and see all of them in about nine days. When she got back on base, there wouldn't be Spring to tackle her in a hug, not letting go until Iris pulled him off.

Ramirez kicked a stone off the roof. He was fed up with fighting wars dreamed up by older men.


	10. Down With The Sickness

**Hullo there. I present Chapter 10. Much cursing; you have been warned.**

**As flyingcrispi once put, "Shit has officially hit the fan.**"

_Special thanks to VerityA for being an awesome beta, and to panpanpeppermint for the extremely helpful advice, as always. Also to all my reviewers, NINJ4 CUPC4KE, WasabiMuffin, and flyingcrispi._

Disclaimer: I own nothing/no one except Specialist Valorie 'Ratchet' Red and Captain Noah Lennox.

* * *

Finding quiet time in life once in a while is extremely important. Certain professions, however, don't allow much to be found. In the military, rarely was there a moment of peace, of calm, of quiet despite all the waiting around. This time was essential to Valorie, to allow her to mull over recent events. Time was a silent friend to her passing her grievances along silently until they were a faint, worn-out memory. In Valorie's opinion, time was the wisest counselor of all.

However good of a friend time was to Valorie, he certainly wasn't helping her today. After returning home from the mission in Russia, immediately Mactavish had ordered her to report to the hospital to get checked out. Doc confirmed what Valorie had already known; severely bruised ribs and a disgusting purple shoulder. He offered her pain meds, but Valorie refused. She told him to save it for something more serious.

The hospital visit had only taken about thirty minutes, and Valorie wondered what to do. Nerves were eating her insides, and she patted the cell phone in her pocket for the fifteenth time, just to make sure it was safe. She pulled it out, made sure it was on loud ring and vibrate, checked for any messages or missed calls, the returned it back to her pocket. She fingered the end of her braid nervously, but dropped it when it felt disgusting. A shower would do her good, she supposed; maybe get her mind off her Rangers.

The showers were clear of other soldiers, and Valorie quickly hopped in, mindful of the time limit. The water helped to clear her head, but before she knew it, her limit was up and the thoughts swarmed into her head again. She sighed, tugging on her fatigue pants and, mindful of her sore ribs, pulled her tank top over her head.

Valorie checked the phone again as she left the showers. Nothing, just like her previous glances. The clock in the corner of the screen blinked, showing the time to be 19:21. So, it was relatively nine thirty in Washington. She wondered what was taking them so long; Mactavish had reported to her that the EMP the Price launched was beginning to wear off, at least in the Virginia region, at 18:00.

Price. Valorie narrowed her eyes as she thought of the male, and she stalked off to the mess hall for something to eat. She swore, if any of her Rangers was seriously hurt, she was going to rip him a new one. Bastard put everyone's life in danger with that move- civilians and soldiers alike. There were always casualties in war, but casualties climbing into the fifty thousand were unheard of. There hadn't been so many deaths since the disaster of Fallujah.

Valorie walked up to the mess counter, looking at the food. Her stomach churned looking at all of it, and she sighed. She was so nervous. Her return to the rangers was only five days away-would everyone still be there when she returned? Would Spring still be there to tackle her in a huge hug, and would Iris still be there to pull him off of her? What about Foley, and Dunn, and Ramirez?

She placed the phone on the table, watching it with glum eyes. Setting her chin to rest on the table, Valorie moved into a slouched position, causing her ribs to ache. She didn't care; the throbbing was like a tranquilizer, numbing the thoughts of the 75th Ranger Battalion until they were a mindless buzz, swirling but never becoming clear. All she could see through her tunnel vision was the cell phone, and she waiting anxiously for it to light up.

Scarecrow didn't know what to do. Valorie was sitting all alone, staring blankly at the phone the captain had lent to her. He knew all the details of the last mission; Roach had filled him after he returned from the hospital. Doc had given him the all clear to walk without crutches, so he was finally walking on his own two feet. Right now, he shifted his weight in the mess hall doorway, unsure of how to approach the brooding Ranger at the lone table. Scarecrow knew Foley and Dunn; he had been in the battalion for four days to assist on Firebase Phoenix while they recovered from a bombing raid. They were good men, and Scarecrow hoped nothing had happened to them.

Taking a deep breath, Scarecrow remained indecisive on what to do. He didn't know how to handle the situation. If he went to her, she might just get more flustered and upset; on the other hand, she could just not regard him at all. He didn't like either of those options. His mamma always told him that if he made a woman cry, he better find a way to make her smile again. Under the circumstances, he didn't think that Ratchet would be at ease until she got that phone call.

While he was contemplating what to do, Captain Mactavish entered the mess. He was tired; the whole EMP incident had the phones ringing off the hook and paperwork piling up. He snatched a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, rubbing his tired eyes. He scoped the room, a habit he had developed ever since his training in the SAS. His eyes fell on Valorie, slumped onto her arms, and a frown covered his face. Making his way over, he rested a hand on her shoulder.

Jumping in pain, Valorie tore her shoulder out of the intruder's grasp, causing her torso to twist painfully. She clutched at it, groaning, and hoping that the pain would subside soon. She slid her eyes up to see Captain Mactavish, looking concerned, and almost winced at his expression. She nodded at him, then resumed looking at the phone. The bench shifted as he sat down.

"Lookin' at it won't make it ring faster, ya know," he said, sipping his coffee. Valorie said nothing, only shrugging a shoulder. Mactavish rubbed a hand over his eyes, hating how stubborn she was. "Look, Ratch. You're Rangers are fine. Maybe ya should go take a rest."

"And how do you know, Captain?" Valorie didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, but the worry for her Rangers was eating her alive. She went to bite her nails, but realized she had none and sighed. "Sorry Captain. I just…"

"I understand, lass." Mactavish clutched his hands around his coffee cup. He wasn't lying; he truly did understand how it felt to be apart from your second family. Every time he sent out members of the 141, he wondered who would be coming home in a body bag, whose family he would have to visit, what honors he had to bestow. It killed him to know that his orders led men into danger and away from their families.

Valorie pulled out Taco's rosary and began to fiddle with it, glancing to the phone every few seconds. Mactavish watched her, before silently holding out his hand for the trinket. Appraising him silently, the medic reluctantly handed over the beads, watching as Mactavish turned them over carefully, looking at them. He noticed some dark red splotches covering the string holding the prayer necklace together, and realized it was blood.

"…He will be hard ta replace, that one," Mactavish sighed, observing the cross on the bottom of the necklace. From all his teachings, Mactavish still had a hard time believing that this little man nailed to a cross could save all sins. Reflecting on his life and career, he knew there were some moments that utterly could not be forgotten.

Valorie watched Scarecrow sit down after getting something to eat from the counter. She rubbed at her eyes before turning her attention back to her captain. "If something happened to them… I know it's not my fault, but I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. I should be there; I'm their medic for christssakes. Even though I know Dunn is capable, I just feel like it should be me tending the wounded. He was always more willing to put a slug between someone's eyes, so the partnership worked out well. And they're all stubborn bastards, too. Foley and Ramirez, those two would always try to fool me into thinking that they were fine. But I knew. I always knew when something was wrong. Then Privates Iris and Spring, now those two were hilarious. Total parallel opposites, but still the best of friends. But I love those two, maybe more so then the rest of the squad-don't tell them though. They were like the little brothers I always wanted. I'm an only child, but I'm sure you knew that from my file. I always wanted siblings though. I was always jealous of my friends who had them, even though they argued it was a pain. I could never believe having someone who looked up to you—"

Mactavish felt the table vibrate and looked down, right before the cell phone started ringing. Valorie lunged at it, fumbling with it and pushing it onto the floor. She swore, diving under the table to retrieve it, and sat up so quickly that she smacked her head off the bottom of the table. She crawled out of the small space and sat on the bench, looked at the caller ID, and blinked in disbelief.

Valorie hit the "Answer" button, put the phone up to her ear, and answered. "Hello?"

"Kid? Is that you?" Over the line, calling all the way from Pennsylvania was Valorie's father. She sighed, feeling her heart rate slow down. Despite how disappointed she was that it wasn't one of her Rangers, her father's voice was still a soothing sound to hear.

"Hey dad," Valorie returned. She nodded to Mactavish, and stood up and walked a slight distance away. "What's up? Everything okay?"

"Fine, fine. Just wanted to call my daughter," he replied. There was a double meaning behind his words, Valorie could sense it.

"I'm safe, dad. The EMP didn't reach us here. Did it knock out your power?" She asked. On the other end, she heard her dad breath out a long sigh of relief. She hadn't told him she was transferred to the 141; it was against protocol. Shepherd had created a ruse that she was merely transferred to another squad, somewhere in the west. Valorie picked at a thread on her shirt, holding the cell phone with her shoulder. She listened to her dad recite the events of the blast. Apparently it had knocked out power along the east coast. The systems were just beginning to come back online.

"I'm glad you weren't in Washington for that blast, Val. Hell, I'm glad you're halfway across the country and away from the incoming bastards," her father snarled the last part. Although he was very proud of his daughter, the thought of her in active combat always kept him up at nights. Valorie scratched her head. If her father knew that she had been to Russia and back, he would blow a gasket.

"Are you still in Pennsylvania, dad?" She asked.

"Hell yeah. Those Russians ain't gonna get this far north, I'm sure of it." Her father's voice was full of confidence. Valorie wished she inherited the trait. "So how's it been? How is Ramirez? And, oh, what's his name, the jumpy one?"

"You mean Dunn? I dunno, dad." Valorie's father could hear the worry seeping into her voice. "I haven't heard anything for them since the EMP blast. I don't know they're status yet."

"…I'm sure they're fine, kiddo. They're hardy boys. So how's your new squad? You save their sorry asses yet?" He tried to make a joke to lighten the mood.

"Actually, dad," Valorie started, and she blinked to clear her vision. It didn't work, and she soon developed a lump in her throat. "Um, I…I lost two a few days ago."

There was silence while her father mulled this over. "Were you close to them?"

"One," Valorie coughed, trying to get rid of the lump. "He…he shouldn't have died, daddy. He didn't deserve it."

Valorie's father put his face in his hands. Valorie only called him daddy when she was on the brink of breaking. It killed him inside, hearing his daughter so upset and he couldn't do a goddamn thing to help her. "Kid, don't beat yourself up. You know that you shouldn't take these to heart. You're just like your mother."

Valorie's breath hitched at the mention of her mother. "Do, uh… do you think she would be… proud of me? I mean, I know I haven't been home in forever, and I should have made it for the funeral, but dad, there were so many wounded after that attack and I had to help, it's my job and—"

"Valorie, calm down," he snapped. "Your mother was always proud of you. She bragged every damn day to the neighbors about you. She saved every single one of your e-mails, even though she never replied to any of them. She loved you more than anything, Valorie, and don't you ever, _ever_, think otherwise."

"Th-thanks dad. I know she did, it's just…" Valorie trailed off, swiping at her eyes. Her father filled in the blanks.

"She was a tough woman to live with, kid. Trust me, I know." Her father looked at Valorie's picture hanging above the mantelpiece, taking in her appearance. He wondered how much she had changed. Would she still have those bright eyes if—no, when she came home? Or that wide smile?

"Dad, I've gotta go. Since you're getting power back, that means someone from my old regiment will hopefully be calling soon," Valorie said. Her father gave a hum of agreement.

"Alright, I'll let you go then." He paused, and Valorie heard him swallow over the phone. "Stay safe, kiddo. I love you."

"I love you too, Dad. I'll e-mail you as soon as I find a computer. Please lookout for yourself; you're not thirty anymore, pops." Valorie smiled as her father gave a throaty chuckle. They exchanged goodbyes once more before she clicked the "End" button on the phone. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, blotting out any more tears before walking back to Mactavish.

"Family?" Mactavish asked, swirling the remnants of his coffee. Valorie nodded, rubbing at her nose.

"Yeah, my dad. He got power back, so it should only be a matter of time until—" The phone buzzed in Valorie's hand, and once she recognized the caller ID, the phone flew to her ear.

"Dunn," she answered breathlessly. She opened her mouth to fire off barrages of questions, but he beat her to it.

"Just shut up and listen Val, okay?" He started, and Valorie's stomach dropped. Something was wrong. Dunn sniffed on the other end of the phone, followed by a cough. "The EMP knocked out power, and that includes the navigational systems in the helicopters and aircraft. Ours crashed, but we all survived, don't ask me how. Pvt. Wade, I dunno if you remembered him, he's dead. Then we were making a last stand—"

"Dunn," Valorie cut him off, and she could almost feel his irritation over the phone. "Save me the details, give me a casualty report."

The corporal huffed over the line, but his voice was grim as he spoke. "I took a bullet to the arm, but it was a clean shot; Ramirez, Foley, McCord and Sandler had minor injuries, don't ask me how the hell that happened."

She was bouncing on the tips of her toes now, anxiety driving her nuts. Mactavish was watching her, but she didn't care. "Dunn, what about Spring and Iris? They're fine, right?"

Silence, then a shaky breath. "They're gone, Val."

Stopping all movement, Valorie felt the color drain out of face, her stomach drop down into the pits of hell. Her heart rate sped up, and her hands began to shake. Her mouth flopped open uselessly, letting nothing out but incoherent blurbs. After a few seconds, she was able to spit out a sentence. "You're shitting me, Dunn. Tell me you're joking."

"Wish I was, Val."

"What, no… no, no. How…how did they…?" She couldn't bring herself to finish the question. Another pair of eyes was on Valorie now as her crumbling walls came crashing down. Tears began to leak out of her eyes.

"Spring stopped to help Iris up; he'd fallen down over something. An Apache crashed down in the street, and the blades… the blades sliced him in half, Val. Not even five seconds later, a plane crashed on top of Iris. I swear to God, Val, I swear to whoever is listening that I am not lyin' to you." Dunn broke off, voice cracking at the end.

There was stunned silence; what could she say? The room became unbearably cold. Thoughts and images of the accident swam through Valorie's head, depicting it to herself. Vaguely she heard Dunn calling her voice over the line and she responded. Her voice seemed miles away.

"When you comin' home to us, Red?" Dunn was crying now, Valorie could tell, and it made her own tears flow faster. "The boys all miss ya; hell, even I miss ya."

That sent her over the edge. She dropped the phone out of her hands and replaced it with her face, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Iris and Spring flashed through her minds, from the time they met to the time they departed. That one lingered a little longer as she remembered Spring's parting words after she made them promise to stay safe. Iris had remarked that bullets couldn't keep them down, and Spring had sent a happy remark after it.

_Nothing short of a flying death trap, that's for sure,_ He had said, Valorie remembered.

Suddenly, there was just this burning pit of anger in her stomach. This was his goddamn fault, she realized, and the anger spread, moving into her limbs and beginning to permeate her mind. If he'd never launched the EMP, the privates would still be alive. Price had killed them, her two little brothers, now forgotten in the remains of Washington D.C.

Valorie snarled when she came to this realization, and sprinted out of the mess. She heard Mactavish curse, shout an order, and then Scarecrow was moving to intercept her. His face didn't register with Valorie; she shoved an elbow hard into his sternum before he could grab her, not caring how hard she hit him. He staggered backwards, eyes full of shock that she had actually done that to him. It was enough to clear a path out of the door and she sprinted, Mactavish following her close behind. He knew it was something horrible had to have happened to cause such a drastic reaction like this.

She shoved another body out of the way as she skidded to a stop in the quad, eyes whirling as she tried to spot her target. There; Price was walking to the command center with Ghost and another soldier. She didn't care. Barely registering that Mactavish's footstep were becoming quicker, she darted towards the old captain, intent on inflicting some serious pain.

Never breaking a sweat, Mactavish yelled a warning to Price just as Valorie was closing in. Ghost and his partner looked up, and seeing Valorie's intent, moved to restrain her. She managed to throw a punch at the unknown man, who dodged easily before slipping both her arms behind her back. Valorie gave a scream of frustration, drawing attention to herself. She began to drag the male forward, huffing as she made her way to a shocked Price. Ghost soon joined in restraining her, grabbing her left arm while the other shifted to her right. Together they dragged her a few feet back, spitting and kicking.

"The hell is fuckin' wrong with you?" Ghost shook her violently, trying to get her to look at him. She paid him no mind, murderous glare still fixed on Price as she still struggled.

"Wrong with me? _Wrong with me_? He murdered my brothers!" She shrieked, trying to lurch forward at Price. The two men held her firm.

The older captain shot her an incredulous look. "What are you—?"

He stopped when Mactavish placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a warning glance and a shake of his head. Now was not the time. He looked to Ghost. "You and Archer take 'er ta cool down. I've got calls ta make."


	11. Setting Up Dominoes

**I... don't know what to think on this chapter. It's just here to make sense and set up "Loose Ends." **

_Special thanks to VerityA, panpan, Victor, Averia, flyingcrispi, Reg and CookieCutter._**  
**

Disclaimer: I own nothing/no one except my characters. 

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"Always to be the best and far to excel others." This, a credo from Cicero, had been adopted by Valorie as her own. Since high school, she had striven to be the best academically and best athletically. Some days, she would crawl home, just wanting to sleep, but still drag out tomorrow's homework and complete it studiously.

Looking back, those had been the easy days. These past four years with the Rangers and the short time with the Task Force 141, had Valorie slowly questioning herself. What good was all that studying and training if she kept losing her men, her brothers? What good was all that if she couldn't even be there for them in their time of need?

It was swallowing her, this abyss of failures, eating away at her confidence and sanity. It seemed that every time she saved one soldier, three more fell, each closer to her than the one previous. As she watched, the abyss grew, staring back at her, waiting to be fed with more failures and more bodies.

Something pulled Valorie away from the edge of the darkness, dragging her away with unrestrained force. She came back into her right mind then, in time to feel herself thrown into a swivel chair, the force causing it to roll across the plastic matting. She slumped down into it, head hanging low.

That drowned look on her face enraged Ghost. Didn't she realize that this was war? Lives were being lost every god damn day, and yet, her she was, moping over two. It infuriated the man, the way she was sulking around. Archer watched him silently from the corner.

"What the 'ell are you tryin' to pull?" he snarled, pacing back in forth in front of her. She still didn't look up, and the lack of response pissed Ghost off even more. In two strides he had the Specialist picked up by her collar, staring her full in the face. She flinched away from the skull covering his face, so he shook her to get her attention. "You think assaulting a higher up will bring 'em back? Come back to earth, Ratchet; they're dead, nothin' you can do now!"

Ghost threw her back in the chair, and Valorie's head went to her hands. She cried silently, not caring who saw. She cried for Spring, for Iris, for Worm, for Taco, and especially for the man back at Firebase Phoenix, the one she could have saved. All because of her, he was six feet underground, cold and rotting. The sadness was overwhelming, the frustration was immense, but the one thing eating Valorie up was the fact that she was a failure. Her mother was right all along; she couldn't handle this, no matter how much Valorie believed she could.

"How many times has Lennox told you to jus' let it go?" Ghost was yelling now, throwing his hands up in the air. Valorie winced at the toxicity in his tone, pulling deeper into the recesses of her mind. "Soldiers die everyday, Specialist. Get used to it."

"You're being a hypocrite, Riley." Archer stood from his position by the door, arms crossed and a heavy frown on his features. His posture was relaxed, despite the situation. Ghost whirled to face him.

"Excuse me?" He hissed, fists clenching. Archer raised an eyebrow.

"Did ya ever get over the murder of your family? Do you still take those pills? 'ow about the nightmares? 'ave they stopped?" Archer spat, tone turning violent. Oh, he had been waiting a long time to put this man in his place. "You go around like you're fine, like nothing's wrong, but we can all see it; the mask you wear is proof. So, did you?"

Ghost's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He hated being put on the spot like this, especially if the accuser was correct. He never did get over the murders of his family; heck, he himself laughed after he found the bodies on Christmas Eve, and then tracked down Sparks and Washington to kill them. He shot Archer a menacing look.

"Those two deserved it."

"No, they deserved a fair trial. You murdered two higher rank officers and got away with it because a friend was watching the security cameras that night," Archer countered. Ghost remained silent. "Ratchet has done nothin' but her job. You 'ave no place to reprimand 'er for wanting to throw a punch, considering what you did. Chew on tha', kid."

Archer swept from the room, leaving Ghost and Ratchet behind. Ghost snarled, kicking the wooden desk repeatedly until it splintered. Valorie jumped at the sudden noise, looking up at the agitated lieutenant with frightened eyes. She didn't see Ghost, or the desk, or the office; she was back in the gulag, watching the bullet fire from the rifle, heading straight towards Taco's head. She saw his eyes, full of pain and watching her, blink once before welling up in tears, something she hadn't noticed in the heat of the moment. The bullet struck, brain matter flew, the eye slithered out of its socket, but the one thing that caught Valorie's attention the most were the unshed tears.

Taco had been so scared. Despite all her comforting words and soothing murmurs, he knew what was waiting for him, knew that death was coming. Valorie removed her bloodied hands from Taco's lifeless body, clutching her head as she rocked back and forth.

Ghost stopped his angry pacing to look over at Valorie. The woman was curled into herself, clutching her head and rocking slowly in her chair. Raising an eyebrow, he stalked over, grabbing her by her shoulders.

Valorie looked up and screamed, backing away from the skull, from death, from the reaper. She tumbled backwards over something, frantically shuffling back towards the stone wall of the gulag, watching the skull come closer and closer, the evil grin stretching wider and more horrible by the second.

"Stay back!" She screeched, bringing her hands up to her face in a defensive stance. Ghost halted, glaring at Valorie, confused. Dear god, he was trying to help her, what was she so afraid of? He rubbed at his forehead, aggravated, feeling the cloth balaclava under his palm. Behind his glasses, Ghost's eyes widened, and he realized what the problem was; the skull on his mask was driving her into more panic. Slowly, as to not alarm the hysterical medic any further, he eased up onto his haunches, and then stood slowly up. He backed towards the door and opened it quietly, moving into the hallway before locking the door. Looking quickly down the hall, he spotted Scarecrow taking to Ozone, and made his way towards the pair.

When she heard the door click, Valorie looked up cautiously, expecting to see the dark, leering grin smiling back at her, forcing her back farther into the gulag. But no, she was back in the office building. Blinking, she looked around confused before it all came rushing back to her; the phone call from Dunn, the desire to inflict harm on Price, and the horrible rage that took over her entire being. She shifted, placing an arm around her ribs to try and soothe the pounding, and attempted to stand, using the wall for support. She managed to struggle halfway up before her head began to pound and her eyesight became clouded with black spots, a telltale sign that she was having a syncope attack. Plopping back down on the ground, Valorie quickly shifted herself so that her legs were against the wall, resting directly up in the air. This would help blood flow better and hopefully help stop the attack. Her eyesight disappeared, and Valorie's hearing followed quickly, then all feeling in her body vanished. Without control of her body, her legs flopped uselessly to the floor, and blood once again settled uncomfortably in her legs. Focused on breathing, Valorie tried to see past the blackness, but everywhere she looked, nothing was found. Instead, she switched her attention to breathing, keeping calm, and waiting for the attack to subside. She ran through the possible triggers in her head, and decided it was mostly brought on by stress. As she tried to get the attack to subside, she tried not to think about recent events.

Scarecrow eyed the locked door nervously, not knowing how to react. Ghost had instructed him to calm down Valorie, at any cost. Scarecrow had seen her stunt in the quad, and although he didn't know the full details yet, it must have been something horrible to have caused a reaction like that out of the usually calm medic. Scarecrow considered himself her friend; ever since she risked her life getting him out of the Humvee in the Red Zone and carrying him to safely after, he had nothing but respect for the female soldier. She always treated him kindly and put his well being before her own. Now, he realized, he had an opportunity to pay her back for her care.

He unlocked the door and eased it open, peeking his head around the corner. He scanned the room, and once he spotted Valorie lying crumpled on the floor, shoved it open so fast it slammed off the wall. Darting towards her, he began to call her name, and when she didn't respond immediately, his mind flew to his basic medical training. Grasping her wrist, he felt for a pulse, and after moving his fingers twice, he found it. Scarecrow's eyes found a clock on the wall, and he counted the heartbeats she had in a minute. Valorie's heart was beating fast, and it set Scarecrow even more on edge. He began to call her name, wondering why she wouldn't respond.

There was a slight pressure on her wrist; Valorie could feel it under the cover of numbness. She began to work to regain her senses, trying to move her body and tried to speak instructions to whoever was next to her. It was tough, but she finally managed to get a groan past her lips, and began to gasp out instructions. Whoever was next to her followed them to perfection, elevating her legs like she instructed. Her vision cleared and feeling came creeping back, and Valorie was able to push her body up, mindful of her ribs. She looked to whoever helped her, and smiled when she saw Scarecrow.

"Hey kid," she said, rubbing her eyes. She was tired, and upset, and on the verge of another breakdown. She held it together, however, for Scarecrow. "Nice work there."

"What happened, Ratch?" He asked, genuinely concerned. His eyes shone with curiosity as he offered his hand to Valorie, hoisting her to her feet. She swayed, and Scarecrow slung an arm over his shoulder to keep her vertical. The black spots came swarming back, but stubbornly, Valorie blinked them away, determined to fight this time. She motioned Scarecrow to walk, and the pair moved out of the room together.

"A little problem I have. Nothing to worry about, it won't kill me." Valorie dismissed the issue, looking around the halls. "How did I get into that office anyway?"

Scarecrow slid his eyes over to meet hers. "I don't really know, but I heard you tried to attack Price. Or, tried to. I was inside with Ozone, getting prepped for the next mission."

"Yes, I remember that part." Valorie felt her face flush, remembering that going after a high ranked officer would probably give her serious punishment. Her head hung. "I can't believe I lost my head like that..."

"What caused it, anyway?" Scarecrow toed open a door, using his body to keep it open as he helped Valorie through. He regretted asking as he saw Valorie's eyes fill with tears. She blinked quickly and tilted her head up, trying to contain them in her eyes.

"You remember Iris and Spring, yeah?" She sniffled, wiping snot from her nose on her arm. She made a face and rubbed her arm on her pants.

"The fellas that helped us out of the Red Zone. You were close, right?" Scarecrow let go of Valorie's arm, seeing that she was fine to walk on her own. She stood to the side awkwardly, her gaze not meeting Scarecrow's.

"Yeah, them. They...were killed in Washington," Valorie exhaled, wringing her hands together as she blinked back more tears. Scarecrow's face went pale, and his gaze darted anywhere but Valorie's face. He never did handle death well, and since it was unavoidable in his career field, he stared it in the face more often than he liked.

Scarecrow looked up as he heard fast approaching footsteps. Captain Lennox was coming down the hall, so he snapped to attention. But the captain paid him no mind; he simply grabbed Valorie's upper roughly arm and began pulling in the direction of the offices. She tried to struggle out of his grasp, but he only clenched harder. Valorie heard scarecrow give a yell after them, but they were already turning a corner.

"What the hell, Noah, let me go!" Valorie planted her feet, but the captain still continued to drag her, down into a secluded hallway. Her resistance just aggravated Noah, to the point where he spun Valorie around harshly, causing her to stop and look at him.

"Listen, Val; just…just come with me alright?" Noah's voice was panicked, his eyes dating down the hallways, looking into every door. Valorie closed her mouth to stop her retort. Her former friend looked absolutely terrified. He ushered her into an office, and shoved her to attention. In the room sat General Shepherd, and over the crest of his hands, Valorie could see that he was not happy.

"At ease," he spoke, and it held no tone in it whatsoever. Valorie's stomach dropped to her knees. "Specialist, I understand there was an issue this afternoon."

"Yes sir," Valorie moped, shuffling her feet. It was like that time she stole chalk in kindergarten, and the teacher found out. She was in trouble. "I'm sorry for the-"

General Shepherd held up a hand. "Save your apologies. In any other circumstance, you'd be banned from missions for about two weeks." Shepherd shuffled papers on his desk. "However, your paperwork for the Rangers went through."

Valorie's head snapped up. She saw Noah shuffle anxiously next to her, but she soon reverted all her attention back on the general. He looked her straight in the eye as he spoke. "You're set to leave for the temporary base in Washington in five days. In that time, however, we're sending you on a mission; shouldn't take more than three days, four tops."

Valorie was so happy to be returning to her Rangers, she'd agree to anything right now. "Yes sir! What is it?"

Hiding his glinting smile behind his hands, Shepherd eased himself back into his chair. Some people were so easy to manipulate. "Captain Lennox will brief you about it. Dismissed."

Valorie almost flew out of the room, and Noah watched her go apprehensively. As soon as the door shut, he opened his mouth to speak. "Sir, surely she doesn't have to be-"

Shepherd cut him off, already knowing where the plea was going. He fixed Noah, his pawn, with a steely look. "I want no loose ends, Noah. Understood?"

"But sir, we could send her home! She'll be none the wiser," Noah begged. Shepherd rolled his eyes, and slid the Specialist's medical records and psych evaluation into the trash. When he saw this, Noah's face darkened, but he nodded, not one to disobey orders. Shepherd motioned him out of the room, and pulled out a cigar, clipped off the end and lit it up. Happily, he patted the medals on his chest. He'd get another one soon enough.


	12. Only Trophies

_Why, hello everyone. How are we? I apologize for the extreme lateness and shortness of the chapter, but it is a chapter, none the less. I feel like it was rough patch, so I will hopefully be updating quicker._

**As always, special thanks to Chou, Verity, panpan, flyingcrispi, harujuku flavors, crusherccme, speech of silence, a red penguin, Averia, CookieCutter, SevereGamingAddict. You all are the reason I write.**

_If I may, I recommend listening to the score "Only Trophies" from Transformers 3: Dark Of The Moon. Or, if you prefer words, try "Angel With A Shotgun" by The Cab._

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything/anyone except my two OCs.**

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"Sniper team checking in. Status?"

"Ground team moving towards safe house. Stand by for cover fire." Archer watched through his scope as Ghost gave hand signals to his squad. Seven men morphed away from the tall grass, creeping through the dense Russian undergrowth. Archer instructed Toad to keep a watch on the surrounding tree line while he swept his scope over to the opposing ridge. He spotted Captain Lennox and Ratchet trudging through the foliage, not speaking. But there was a fire in Ratchet's step, and he was pleased to see the medic was on alert, keeping one eye on her men in the valley below. After the event at Encounter Base, Archer had been keeping a quiet eye on the specialist, monitoring her condition. She seemed alright, the news about her returning to her troops being just the right motivator. He watched her raise a hand to her mic to respond.

"Ridge team moving." Archer nodded to himself. The ghillie suit ruffled against the barren rocks as Archer shifted into prone position, sweeping his watch back over Ghost and the others. Cautiously they moved into the trees, rifles sweeping back and forth among the trees and foliage. It was quiet in the tiny valley.

Archer heard the whistling, and then he brought the gun in his hands to life as he proceeded to take out incoming forces. Bouncing Betties took out the lead squad, and more erupted out of the ground. The second wave of soldiers hastily dropped and rolled to avoid them. More whistling came, and Archer followed the trail of smoke in the sky, identifying mortars. He refused to let his scope trail over the bodies of the fallen 141; instead, he identified and eliminated encroaching targets. Archer picked up the pace, realizing it was an ambush too late. He jumped from target to target, eliminating each one cleanly and efficiently. Toad moved a bit slower than the veteran sniper, but this was no time for Archer to correct him. He was still learning, after all.

Ghost lead the charge through the black smog beginning to cover the area. Archer assisted as much as he could, trying to pick out friend from foe through the haze. He made a quick swipe with the scope towards the right arm first; if he didn't see the patch of the Task Force, he pulled the trigger.

"Toad, what's our visual on Ratchet and Noah? 'ave we got one?" Archer asked quietly, still focused on assisting the troops on the ground. Ratchet and Noah were on a destruction mission, to take out a Russian satellite dish and regroup at the safe house. It was a simple; plant a bomb, then meet up with ground team.

Toad shifted, moving so he could see better. "Yeah, I've got a visual. Still climbing, I see no interference. The Captain looks a little nervous, I wonder why."

"'e's always been a bit jumpy after the specialist clocked him one. Just keep an eye on 'em," Archer replied, laying down quick sniper shots. He took out the ones Ghost and the ground team couldn't see—enemies in trees, in brush, on ridges. The ground team plowed through the grass to the perimeter of the safe house. Toad reported that Ghost had held up a fist, the signal to stop. On the ridge, Ratchet and Noah kept moving, weaving through the tree line quicker than ever.

Engines came to life from the safe house. Two trucks came spluttering out of the garage, kicking up dust as they heaved into first gear. Archer narrowed his eyes as he spoke into his mic. "We got two trucks leaving the target building."

Over the static, the sniper heard bullets rebounding off the trucks and heard Ghost curse. Archer pushed himself to his knees quickly, Toad following suit, and grabbed the Javelin that was stashed in the rock crevice behind him.

"Don't let those trucks get away!" Ghost yelled over the comms, the constant thrum of his rifle prominent over the channel. Archer rolled his eyes under the camouflage of the ghillie and settled the rocket launcher on his shoulder. He didn't need to be told.

"Roger. Firing Javelin, danger close." The recoil from the burst would have brought Archer to land flat on his back if not for the rock wall behind him. Toad's Javelin fired right after his, and it almost toppled the young sniper onto his side. He sprung right back up, grabbed his regular rifle, and shimmied back into the prone position. Archer followed his lead, shifting his suit to look more like a bush than a human killer.

"Vehicles neutralized," Toad murmured, sniffling a bit. The residue left from the rockets must have been aggravating his senses. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to rub the discharge power from them.

"Any sign of the target?" Archer asked. He did a quick scope of the tree line, spotting Ratchet easily, still moving towards the targeted meeting. Noah, however, was harder to spot. He stuck to the shadows of the trees, waiting until Ratchet was a few steps ahead before moving again. He was wringing his hands constantly. Archer watched as he left Ratchet pass him before quickly ducking to the side, his lips moving rapidly. Archer narrowed his eyes; who was he talking to?

"None." Toad's voice brought Archer's attention back to the valley. He turned his head to listen to the spotter as he continued. "Those trucks were probably just decoys."

Archer nodded, impressed with his partner. He was advancing quickly and had a good memory; Archer had taught him the decoy theory on one of their first missions together in Bali. Perhaps he had learned more than he thought. The older soldier gave a small, wry smile at that. Maybe he could finally retire.

"Moving vehicles have been neutralized. Be advised, we 'ave not, I repeat, we 'ave not spotted Makarov, and no one else 'as left the 'ouse. Those trucks may have been decoys over." Archer heard Ghost's affirmative come back over the radio.

"How's Ratchet doin', Archer?" Scarecrow's voice made the older sniper raise an eyebrow, and Toad's head turned toward him.

"They've reached the rendezvous point, Scarecrow," he reported, swinging his scope around. "But they are moving farther in, I can't tell why. The satellite dish is back the other way… Ratchet, do you copy? Come in."

"I copy Toad. Noah says that the dish has a control booth a few meters in; says if we can take that, we can get some more intel on Makarov. We're moving farther in." Ratchet's voice was tired and worn, but there was hopefulness in her tone. She was excited that this was her last mission with the 141. Archer cracked a thin smile, but his stomach churned. Something was not right.

"Alrigh', keep in touch," Archer focused back on the ground squad, watching as they cleared the safe house. Roach and Scarecrow took the basement, and Ghost and Ozone took the upper floors after clearing out the main floor. Archer heard the gunshots and saw flashes inside the house, walls becoming tinged with red edges from all the blood; a common sight for the veteran sniper.

All went quiet, eerily quiet. Toad turned his head slightly to his commander, waiting for orders. Archer held up a fist, signaling him to wait. Archer listened, breathing deeply; he listened to the rustled of leaves, waiting for the affirmative from the Safe House.

"All clear."

"Basement clear."

"Good; squad, regroup on me." Ghost's order made Archer's fingers unclench from around his rifle, and he flexed them calmly. He didn't know why he was so tense; these were trained soldiers, some of the best in the world. They could handle themselves in close quarters. Archer stretched his clenched fingers, putting feeling back into them.

"How do you think Captain Mactavish is doing, Archer?" Toad whispered, listening to Captain Price relay information about the bone yard. The older sniper shrugged, moving to shift his legs. They had been crouching for about forty five minutes now, and he was starting to loose feeling in the one pushed against the ground.

"How should I know? 'e can 'andle 'imself. If he couldn't, I wouldn't be following 'is orders." Archer cracked his neck, heaving a sigh of relief as feeling came back into his spine.

Toad didn't say anything, for his attention was suddenly back on his scope, shifting it to the mountain ridge. Archer glanced over, annoyed at the silence of his partner.

"Report, Toad," Archer murmured, keeping his scope on the house scanning for enemies. There was a suspicious movement to the southeast, and he didn't want to move his scope from it.

"Ratchet's gone, I can't see her anymore. They must have moved behind that tree line." Toad pointed with the muzzle of his gun, doing another sweep of it. "There; behind that pine. A shift to the west-"

"Ghost, you're gonna be without sniper support for about thirty seconds. Standby." Archer was already moving, picking his way among the rocks to the west. He crept west among the rocks, rifle slung across his back as he pulled himself up to a higher position on the mountain. His stomach was upset, and it was not a pleasant feeling. He hoisted himself up hastily to the final ledge, turned to pull Toad up, and once again kneeled down to take his position.

He found the ridge quickly, and ordered Toad to keep his gaze on the house. Scanning the open forest, Archer's enhanced gaze landed upon Ratchet, sprawled on the ground and clutching her calf, then to Noah, stoic as he moved the pistol to aim it at her head.

"Shit! Noah, what the 'ell are ya doin'? Noah!" Archer yelled into the mic, deafening his partner and the ground squad. Questions arose from the ground team, concerned voices, angry voices, but they all were drowned out by rotating chopper blades. Archer never pulled his gaze off the pair on the ridge, even as Toad gave a yell of warning for incoming enemy troops. The senior sniper watched as Noah pulled off his mic, dangling it towards Archer, taunting him. _I can't hear you_, he seemed to say. Noah leaned down quick and swiped the mic off Ratchet as well, giving her a blow to the head as he retreated that almost knocked her flat. _And neither can she._

Archer growled, firing off two quick rounds at Noah, hoping they hit before shifting his attention down into the valley, assisting Toad in eliminating incoming forces. The veteran sniper didn't have time to see if his shots hit, he only had time to hope for the best. He couldn't focus all his attention on Ratchet, not when four other men were depending on him.


	13. What Doesn't Kill You

_Many thanks once again to my readers._

This is an apology for Archer's POV last time. We're back to Val now.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Unless a certain catalyst, like anger or a bruised pride, stimulates the reaction into something greater, far more out of proportion to the original action. Valorie should have known, should have kept her guard up; she knew how Noah was, how angry he got when his pride was hurt. From the moment she mouthed off to him in the captain's office, she should have kept a close eye on him. If she could move her right leg, she'd be kicking herself.

Her hands gripped the hole in her calf, trying to stem the blood flow. Her medical training couldn't make it past the emotions of pain, betrayal and astonishment scurrying around in her brain, and she grit her teeth as she forced herself to look up at Noah. Although her vision was fuzzy, she could see that his face was completely calm; like it wasn't his good friend he was leveling a M9 at, rather a disc that he was intent on shooting. There was no emotion, no regret, just duty.

"Well, this is goodbye then, Specialist Red." His voice was cold and unwavering. "General Shepherd sends his farewells and best regards. Thank you for your service."

Valorie couldn't move her eyes away from that cold stare. Was this who was really hiding beneath her friend the whole time? A madman, willing to sacrifice his comrades, all for the glory to be given to one man? What had Shepherd turned him into, since he was so willing to eliminate her?"

"Shit! Noah, what the 'ell are ya doin'? Noah!" Archer's voice rang over the comms, clear in Valorie's ear. She willed herself to remove a hand from her leg and reached for the button to respond, but Noah beat her to it. He swiped the comm. Off Valorie's ear, clocking her in the temple as he stood back up. She saw stars, collapsing back onto the Russian soil and breathing hard. If he hit her any harder in the temple, she might not wake back up. She removed her other hand from her leg now, using both to push herself up. The movement alone brought more stars to her vision, but she blinked them away hurriedly. A quick zipping sound came through the air, and Valorie recognized it to be bullets. Her brain immediately took her into defensive mode, pulling her arms in front of herself to defend herself. She heard Noah give out a grunt before feeling another bullet rip into her arm, through the bicep on her right arm and clipping the underside of her left. Immediately she gripped them close together, crossing them close to try and stop the blow flow. Through narrowed eyes and fuzzy vision she saw Noah gripping his right hand, distracted. Her brain was able to process that the gun he had was now missing, but where…?

There; it was dropped on the forest floor about a meter away from her. Shakily, she pushed herself up onto her left leg with her left arm and hobbled over, snatching it off the ground. Noah cursed from behind her, and she turned her head to see him striding toward her, his mangled hand still bleeding. Valorie turned all support to stand on her left leg. The pistol was too heavy for her right arm to lift by itself because of the weakened state of it. She brought her left hand to steady her right, and she pulled the trigger, the recoil jostling her arm and sending shockwaves of pain up it. The left side of Noah's face disappeared, good hand flying up to grip at the bloody bone in outrageous pain. Valorie steadied herself and breathed out, firing again. Noah went down for the count, the body jerking and twisting grotesquely, painting the brown soil a dull copper color. Taking a step back, Valorie's right leg couldn't support her weight and she collapsed, the gun falling from her grasp to rest in the grass. All her strength was draining from her body now, the adrenaline rush evaporating into the air. Lying flat on her back, as she felt blood trickle down her leg and arms, she looked up at the sky and realized how beautiful of a day it was.

And it made her cry.

"Stupid Noah, I hate you, I…I've always hated you…" The tears wouldn't stop, merging from whimpers to full blown sobs. "Why? Why did you have to be so…so mindless?"

Her statements weren't true, she knew that. Her brain was trying to rationalize her actions of shooting and killing her good friend. It was her that she hated; what kind of a person was she, to kill her friend? She stopped putting pressure on the wounds, just letting the fuzziness of her vision turn to black on the edges. No longer did she care what happened, she just wanted to get out.

Boots appeared in the center of her vision; she hadn't realized her head had rolled to the side. Someone was calling her, and there were fingers on her neck. Pressure was applied over her calf wound, and another hand pressed on the hole in her bicep.

"...an….'ea…me…atchet! Oi, Ratchet!" Her face was being slapped gently and she pulled herself back into her consciousness, despite the difficulty. She cracked her eyes open and groaned, rolling her head away from the slapping hand. Archer was watching her with a piercing gaze and pressing on the wound on her bicep, trying to stop the blood. "Stay with us, Ratchet! What's your rank?"

It was hard to form the words. That darkness was back, lulling her back to it. "Specialist..."

"No! No, don't close ya eyes! Gimme ya identification number!" Archer ripped off a strip of his ghille suit, tying it tight around the wound in her arm. He instructed Toad to do the same with the laceration in her calf. The two snipers had to get her out of the open.

"Number is… uh…139 10…09," Valorie's tongue felt like it swelled to fill her entire mouth; it was hard to talk around it. Archer noticed how her voice was fading as she spoke the last sequence of numbers, and he cursed. She needed treatment.

"We've got to get out of the open, Toad," Archer instructed. He scanned the area. "Makarov's safe house, it's our only option."

"Sir, what if Shepherd comes back? And he brings more of Shadow Company? They know we're out here sir, they've caught us on thermal," Toad spoke. He helped Archer move Ratchet into a sitting position. She was just barely looking at them, not comprehending what they were saying but knowing it was important.

Archer grunted as he and Toad hefted Ratchet up between them and tossed one arm over each of their shoulders, trying to be mindful of her injuries. She still sucked in a deep breath and ground her teeth so hard that Toad was sure they would soon be nubs. They locked arms underneath her thighs and started moving towards the house.

"Sir, did you hear me? What if Shadow Company comes back?" Toad tried again, looking at his commander over Ratchet's drooping head. He didn't like hiding out in the house. It made the young sniper feel vulnerable, since all of Makarov's men knew where the place was. Once they heard about the events that had transpired at the location, surely they would be back to burn the remains.

"No one's comin' back, Toad. Shadow Company took off towards the southwest. They're 'eadin' towards Mactavish now. And Makarov's men won't be back. This was a set up by our glorious leader. Look out and see, there's nothing left. Nothing but blood, bodies and smoke." Archer gave a wry smile. "Our temporary 'ome. Now keep talkin' to 'er. We're not loosing anyone else. I'm gonna try an' contact the others, tell them to go underground until we 'ear from Mactavish."

Toad wasn't completely satisfied with his answer, but he let it slide; it wasn't like he had any other plan. He refocused his thoughts on Ratchet, making her the number one priority right now. They were about halfway to the safe house, moving downhill over the rocky terrain and undergrowth.

"You there Ratch? Can you hear me?" He tried. She stirred, but not enough for Toad's liking. He tried again, this time louder. Archer sent him a look from where he was fiddling with his comms. She slid her eyes over to him, looking placidly at Toad, trying to comprehend his face. "Yeah, there you are. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been…shot," she croaked, sniffling. There was dirt caked to her face, caused by her sweat and tears. "What happened? How are the others?"

Archer's head came around Ratchet's torso, and he sent Toad a sharp look as a warning. He nodded, understanding. She didn't need to be upset, not just yet. "You were shot twice, Ratch. Once in the calf, another in your arm."

She made a reaffirming noise, falling silent. She wasn't in the mood for talking, Toad noticed, but he had to keep speaking. If they could keep her conscious until they reached the house, she might just make it. "You know Price is gonna make a joke about how the medic got shot, right?"

"I've heard them all before. Isn't the first time I've been… injured." Valorie grunted as Archer's foot made a misstep, jostling their cargo in the process. He mumbled an apology, still fiddling with his radio. The house was about fifteen meters away now.

"Really, what happened?" Toad stepped high over a rock, and nudged a Russian soldier out of the way with his foot.

"Got clipped on the top of my ear in Afghanistan a few years back. Missing the top half of...my left ear…," she mumbled, head lolling back onto her chest. Archer looked over and told Toad to pick up the pace. They got her inside, shoving past the pile of dead bodies and hauled her into the kitchen. Toad swept aside the half eaten food and empty bullet casing, and he and Archer gently laid Ratchet on the table. Archer moved out of the room after instructing Toad to cut ratchet's pant leg right under the knee, so they could get at the cut. Toad pulled out his combat knife and sawed through the material, revealing the bullet wound. It was red and agitated, still bleeding, though it was much slower. He did the same with her sleeves, cutting off the Task Force 141 patch in the process.

Archer returned, carrying a metal First Aid kit. Right away he got to cleaning the wounds, starting first with the leg. He disinfected it, making sure he got every inch of the hole, and then stitched up both sides. Handing the gauze to Toad, he instructed his partner to wrap the new stitching before he moved to her arms. The veteran sniper froze, eyeing the bullet hole. It was just the right size for a round from his M14.

"I 'it 'er, Toad." The younger sniper looked up from tying the gauze. "I actually shot my own comrade."

"That's not possible, sir, you never miss," Toad tried. He moved to Ratchet's other arm, pulling out the disinfectant.

"I was movin' when I fired that second time. Christ, I 'it 'er." He didn't say much more after that, eyes casted downwards as he focused on the wound he had caused. If this woman died, part of it was his fault. He stitched it up and wrapped it tight, then let Ratchet's arm lay gently on the table. She was unconscious, but that was probably a good thing.

"So what now sir?" Toad moved to the window, gazing outward to the west. A think black smoke was rising from the field and he sighed, adverting his eyes. They'd have to go get the bodies eventually, and recover Scarecrow and Ozone and the first squad. It was only right.

"Now," Archer spoke, grabbing a chair and pulling it to the opening of the kitchen, setting it right in front of the door. It gave him a good view of the front door and eastern field. He clipped his comms back into his ear and unholstered his pistol, laying it over his lap. He glanced back at Toad and Ratchet's still form on the table before sighing and tugging off the top of his ghillie suit. "We wait."


	14. Hands Held High

**"With hands held high into the sky so blue, to ocean opens up to swallow you."**

Disclaimer: I own nothing/no one except my characters.

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Sleep came easy to Valorie this time; it was a pain induced slumber in limbo, where she could hear everything, but couldn't open her eyes. If she did, her mind told her, then she would have to remember, and in her current state, it wouldn't help anything. So she lay there, feeling every jolt of pain and every touch on her wounds and accepted it, not minding in the least. She didn't care if she ever woke up again, really.

It had been three days since Ratchet had been patched, and besides her sudden jerks and fits in her sleep, she hadn't woken up. Toad sat by Ratchet's head, maintaining his watch over her as Archer guarded the door. Every half hour he would try to get Ratchet up and get her to swallow some water, but she never got more than a mouthful down before her eyes would roll back into her head and she would collapse back down into the sleeping bag. Right after they had stabilized her to the best of their abilities, the two snipers had carefully moved the medic to a sleeping bag that they had found upstairs and dragged down into the kitchen. It wasn't much of an improvement—a regular bed would be much better—but it at least stopped the chill of the night air from settling in her joints.

Watching Archer fiddle with the radio, Toad tugged his dirty glove off and laid his hand over Ratchet's forehead, checking to see if she was burning up. So far, no sign of a fever had appeared, and that meant no sign of an infection. His cool hand caused Ratchet to stir, and he watched as her eyes sprung open, pupils readjusting to the sudden light.

Something was touching her. Valorie didn't move, trying to feel out the situation she was in. Was she captured, or worse? She opened her eyes, blinded by the light, and saw someone standing over her with an object in their hand. She knew who it was immediately, knew that Noah was trying to finish the job. She reacted before she could think; her healthy hand shot out, constricting Noah's airway and cutting off his breathing.

Toad couldn't breathe, and Ratchet's hand clenched tighter around his throat every second. He scraped at the hand, but she just squeezed harder, and Toad knew that he had to get her to recognize him. But he couldn't talk, and only could make gurgling noises.

Archer heard him. Glancing back to see what was going on, the older sniper rose so quickly that his chair tipped over backwards. The bang of the chair caused Valorie to blink, and as she took in the scene of her hand wrapped around Toad's throat and of her killing him, she quickly let go, her mouth open and hand shaking. Archer supported Toad as he gasped for air, the blueness draining from his face. She looked from Toad, to her hand, and then finally, pleadingly, up to Archer. He had seen that look before, that look of total desolation and despair. It was just how Ghost looked on some nights when he would take off his mask and stare at the picture of his lost family.

"You alrigh', Toad?" Archer never dropped his gaze from Valorie's; if he did, she would definitely loose to her inner conflicts and submit to them. No; Archer's mind flicked back to the choking smoke from the clearing and resolved to not loose another teammate.

Nodding, Toad stood, rubbing his throat, and snatched the M9 off the floor and moved to sit in the chair at the door. Valorie watched him, eyes wavering; she couldn't believe that she had done that. She heard Archer heave a sigh and sit next to her one the floor, digging a pack of cigarettes out of his vest pocket. He found a match and struck it on the bottom side of his boot, lit the cigarette and took a deep drag of it, letting the smoke ooze out from between his teeth. He slid his eyes to the corner of their sockets, observing her as she tried to sort out the thoughts running rampant inside of her head.

"'Ow're ya feelin', Ratchet?" He nonchalantly blew smoke into rings, waiting for her answer. Bewildered at his calmness and dismissal at what had just transpired, Valorie stared at him, wide eyed, before shaking her head. Placing her head in her hand, she continued to shake it. Archer noticed her whole body was quivering, her right hand furling and unfurling around the sleeping bag. They sat in silence; Archer finished his first cigarette and snubbed it into the floor. He reached for another one, figuring he should enjoy his guilty pleasure while he had them.

Drawing her hand away from her eyes, Valorie stared straight ahead and did the best to calm her trembling. It was hard and she couldn't stop it, so she just let her body continue as she replayed the events she could remember in her head. There was the walk up the mountain, the discovery of the information center, the clearing, and then the gunshots. Then it became a haze of black, white and red, a mesh of sounds, including shots, shouts and silence.

"Archer…did I…kill Noah?" She stared straight ahead, not looking at anything but the wood paneling. Archer turned his head toward her, studying her, before digging out his matchbook. Flipping it open, he counted five remaining matches. He tugged one out, placed it on the stained table, and lit his cigarette with another.

"Aye, that ya did." Valorie inhaled a sharp breath. He continued, "Ya understand that it was self defense? That there is no reason why ya should be sorry that sonuvabitch is rottin' in the mountains right now?"

"But…" Archer looked at Valorie with a cool gaze as she tried to form the words. She found that she couldn't, that everything grew too heavy to say. She resigned herself to silence, looking down at her hands in contemplation.

Sighing, Archer stood up, checked on Toad, and resumed his seat by the door. He would glance back once in a while at Ratchet. She remained in the same spot, staring at her hands, not moving. He tilted the chair back and rested on the edges, looking out the door to the cabin, and wondering what was coming next.

It was another two weeks before Archer could convince Valorie to get off the ground and move around. She did so with lethargy, not moving her eyes from the ground and not talking. Archer had suggested to her to keep a pistol on her for protection, and when Archer gave her an M9 from the armory in the basement, it became Valorie's new past time to study the gun with immense interest. Toad, after getting over Valorie's attack, had fashioned a crutch out of a tree branch for her to use to limp around. Her favorite spot became the outside porch, gun in her hands. She had managed to drag a chair outside and turned it to face the mountains, specifically the ridge where Toad and Archer had found her. Eventually, Archer no longer needed to keep a close watch on her, since he could always find her there, staring at the ridge.

Toad and Archer dedicated their time to trying to contact their captain and burying the dead. This meant the dead from both sides, whether terrorist or task force. They ripped off name patches or took dog tags from bodies, then hauled the bodies to a huge pile that had been created on the already blackened grass. Toad had objected to the mixture of the groups, saying that 141 members should have proper graves. Archer ignored him, and eventually, Toad fell silent. The two snipers made an agreement to not recover Noah's body, however. They believed the sight of it would only cause more mental damage to Ratchet. Once the bodies were collected, Archer doused them all with gasoline and used his last match to set it ablaze. It sent a plume of purple haze into the sky, and Archer and Toad never forgot the smell.

Six weeks into their stay, the radio came alive. Toad had been sitting by it one evening, while Valorie sat out on the porch and Archer leaned against the wall, dozing. It was at first a crackle of static, then a rush of voices and chaos. Archer sprung up from where he was slouched and hurried over while Toad tried to lock in on the frequency.

"…can you…us? Co…in, Archer, Toad!" The radio was getting better, and as Toad found the right frequency, Price's voice came over clear. "Archer, Toad, Ratchet, Scarecrow, Ozone, anyone! Can you hear us? Come in, Archer, Toad!"

"We copy, we copy!" Toad handed the mic over to Archer, knowing that his higher up would like to speak to their commanders. Archer nodded, placing the headset on his ears.

There was a deep sigh from the other end of the line. "I take it you boys are the only ones left?"

"For all we know sir, yes, we are. Ratchet's with us too, althoug' she's injured." Archer picked at the dirt under his nails as he waited for a response.

"That's it? Only three of ya?" Price cursed on the line. "What of Encounter Base?"

"We haven't be able ta contact 'em. We think that Shadow Company got there first." Out of the corner of his eye, Archer saw Ratchet appear in the doorway, the shadow of the fading sun covering her. He couldn't read her face, but she was definitely listening. She didn't make a move to come inside, and Archer didn't acknowledge her presence either.

"Our thoughts as well." There was a pause, and Toad had to lean forward to hear what was coming next. "They've attacked New York, Archer."

It was no surprise; it was the next target after Washington D.C. Archer's eyes found a picture on the wall and he listened as Price spoke. "We're going after Makarov; what's left of us, anyway. Nikolai's got your coordinates; he's coming to pick you up. We're gonna have a hell of a fight, we're gonna need all hands."

"Understood, sir." Ratchet was no longer at the doorway when Archer glanced back up; he figured she returned to her chair. "We'll pack up an' be ready to move when our ride arrives."

Something caught Toad's attention from outside, and he stood from his chair to move outside. Archer listened as Price gave him a mission overview, filling him in on details that they had missed. He couldn't believe what the world was coming to.

"Sir, do we know where Makarov is hidden?" Archer pulled out his knife, using the tip to clean his nails better.

"Not sure yet. Got a couple of leads. Macmillian—ya remember him?—he's got some leads for us. Includes a hotel and possibly a castle."

"Sounds exciting." Archer's voice was dull with sarcasm, although the captain didn't seem to hear it.

"Indeed. Soap is still recovering from a nasty wound that Shepherd gave 'im, be says he'll be clear in about two days. And Ratchet? What were her wounds?"

"Bullet to the calf an' the arm. She's jus' startin' ta walk around. Noah shot 'er in the calf." Archer left out the part where he hit her in the arm.

"Damn, she can't walk well then. And her mental state? How is she with—"

"SHIT, RATCHET, _NO_!" Toad's scream caused Archer to rip of the headset and scramble up from the floor. He raced out the door, heart pumping. Toad was already running on the gravel pavement to where Ratchet stood, silhouetted by the sun with her M9 pressed against her temple. She didn't even look back as she squeezed the trigger, bullet piercing her skull. Her blood caught the fading sunlight, sparkling as her body collapsed in a heap on the ground, red pooling around it. Archer slowed his paced, body numb. He grabbed the railing of the porch for support, watching as Toad knelt next to the body, checking in vain for a pulse. Toad slammed his fist into the pavement, screaming at nothing. Archer forced himself to move forward, feeling like moving through lead. He knelt down next to Toad once he reached Ratchet, trying not to look at how her skull was empty of brain and her missing face. Gingerly, he found her dog tags and took them off the corpse, the chain already soaked in blood. Archer held them up to his face, and the last of the sunlight glinted off the metal before all went dark.


	15. Elysium

Archer was shoveling the last of the dirt onto the fresh grave when he heard a helicopter come from the distance. Toad looked up from creating his makeshift cross to see a Little Bird coming over the mountains, shimmering in the morning sun. The two had stayed up all night, digging, and now they both shouldered their packs and moved towards a more open part of the clearing. Toad shoved the sharp end of the cross into the ground at the head of the grave, hung one dog tag with the smaller chain from it for identification, and shook his head as he followed Archer.

The Little Bird touched down smoothly, and the doors slid open, revealing a stocky Russian waiting to help them into the aircraft. He introduced himself as Yuri, a friend of Soap's. Neither sniper cared; if they were getting away from this safe house, they wouldn't complain about race right at the moment. Both threw what remained of their packs into the copter and heaved themselves inside, taking a seat across from one another. Handing them headphones, Yuri took a seat next to Toad, content with the silence.

"We are missing one, yes?" Nikolai held the chopper steady, waiting for an answer.

"Just go, Nikolai." Archer didn't look up. He felt the bird rise into the air and take off towards the southwest, but he clenched his hands tighter and tighter the farther they moved away from the house. Toad was no better; he was looking at the remaining dog tag that they were delivering to Mactavish.

It was a five hour trip from Russia to the house in India. Secluded, the house offered premium protection and cover, and gave good vantage points if it needed to be defended. Nikolai landed the helicopter and shut down the controls while the three men in the back hopped out. Toad and Archer looked at each other and heaved a sigh as they moved towards the door. Yuri knocked twice, paused, then knocked again, and an "Enter" was heard from the other side.

The house was small, cramped with weapons partially disassembled and fully operational, pictures, leads, knives, grenades, cots and chairs. It was a rat's nest, but perfectly fitting for the rat hole it was made out to be. Price stood, observing a bulletin board, and Mactavish sat next to him, both in conversation as the three entered. They fell silent once they caught sight of them.

Mactavish was the first to notice. "Where is she? What happened?"

Toad tossed the dog tag to his commander, not meeting his eyes. Archer was braver; he stared at his captain. Mactavish looked at the metal in disbelief. No one said a word; Price rubbed at his forehead, Archer stared straight ahead, and Toad wrung his hands together.

"Christ, 'ow did she…?" Mactavish couldn't finish the sentence.

"Bullet to the 'ead," Archer replied, simple and clean. "Self inflicted."

Mactavish gave a start so violent that caused his abdominal wound to clench in pain. "Ya mean she… did this ta 'erself?"

Archer nodded stiffly, mustering out a "Yes, sir." The young captain was silent for a breath before he slammed his fist down on the table, fury blzing through his features. "Why wasn't she bein' watched better? Why did this even 'appen?"

Price leaned against the table heavily, crossing his arms. "This was the yell I heard over the radio, wasn't it, Archer?"

"Aye, Captain Price. 'nd the shot."

"So she heard all of my orders then." It wasn't a question, rather a statement, as if the final answer would provide the solution. Archer sagged, realization collapsing on him like a boulder. Toad looked between the two of them, unable to connect the pieces. "You're both dismissed, Archer, Toad. Get some rest."

The two men left, Yuri showing them the way further into the hideout. Mactavish put his head in his hands, shaking it. Price observed him for a few moments before turning back to the board and beginning to plan again. Mactavish didn't listen; hell, he didn't even know if it was worth it anymore. She hadn't even wanted to be a member of the 141; but Shepherd…

Mactavish shook hit head in disbelief; even in death the general had ruined lives and taken more. Ratchet was gone, by her own hand, and everyone who knew her best—her friends Iris and Spring, Taco, Jester—were gone. Where were her memories? Who would remember her? And how would she ever truly get home now?

His eyes landed on the dog tag, lying in the pale light and glinting as shadows passed over it. He picked it up, running the chain through his fingers. He placed it around his neck, tucking it beneath his shirt. The metal was warm, and the bigger tag fit nicely beside his smaller one.

Price had been watching him. "Archer and Toad collected the rest of the 141's tags from the dead in Russia before they left. Ya gonna wear them too?"

Fixing his superior with a cool glance, Mactavish stood, ready to take his leave down the dark hall. "If tha's what it takes ta get 'em home. Ya gonna help me, old man?"

Price pushed himself off from leaning the table, coming to rest next to his partner. He studied his face, noticing all the new lines on his face that appeared within the last year. But there was a sturdiness to him too, a rock solidness that wouldn't allow him to go back on his word. Price clapped him on the back, mindful of his wound. "I think if we split them between us, everyone will get a ride back home."

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**And the rest, as they say, is silence.**

**A special thanks goes out to the man musical artists that inspired and shaped Valorie into a character I could be proud of. I would put a list, but it would extend forever. So, many thanks to The Cab, Hans Zimmer, Imogen Heap, Missy Higgins, Pillar, Mayday Parade, and Tenth Avenue North.**

**To all my readers, old and new, those that I have lost and those that I have gained, I thank you. Especially to my biggest supporters; you know who you are. I hope you stay with me and watch me grow more.**


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